Hijacked
by I'm a Muppet of a girl
Summary: Katniss was rescued from the arena...But Peeta was taken somewhere far worse. This is what it was like for Peeta when he was a captive of the Capitol, suffering trackerjacker venom until he can't tell what's real and what isn't.
1. Chapter 1

_Don't own the Hunger Games, or the characters, or anything at all, really. That's a bit depressing. Anyway. _

_Enjoy!_

"_I can't protect him. I can't move fast or far and my shooting abilities are questionable at best…I scream out, 'Peeta! I'm here! Peeta!' He won't make it. Not with that leg in the night. He will never make it in time." ~Katniss, Catching Fire_

Chapter 1

I'm running through the trees, my heart pounding, my false leg slowing me down. I can hear her screaming my name, and I try to run faster, but I feel like I'm running through tar. I hear myself howling her name.

"Katniss!"

I hear her call my name again, and it's closer this time. I hear the panic in her voice. There is fire all around me. I hear a strange whirring sound above my head, but before I can even move my head to look upward someone explodes out of the bushes and crashes into me.

We both topple to the ground. I find myself looking straight into Johanna's eyes. For a moment we both remain frozen, staring at each other, and I wonder if our alliance is over, if this chaos means every man for himself, and whether I should kill her before she has the chance to kill me. But before either of us can do anything, a shadow is thrown over us and we both look up.

It's a hovercraft. That doesn't make sense to my muddled brain. They only come to collect dead bodies, and only when the rest of the tributes have vacated the area. Why are they here?

A metallic claw reaches down from the hovercraft and wraps itself around Johanna. It must have the same paralyzing current that the ladders have, because I know that Johanna would be putting up a huge struggle if she had the choice. I see a glimpse of her eyes, full of fear, and then she is gone.

All I can think of is Katniss, and that I can't go on that hovercraft, not without her. I lurch to my feet and I start running again. But I don't make it far. The claw closes on me, too, and I am frozen as it hauls me into the air, into the hovercraft.

It releases me and I almost jump right back out again, but rough hands grab me from behind. I am blinded by wild terror—not for myself, but for her. She's out there, in the fire, in the chaos. What if Brutus or Enobaria finds her? What if they kill her?

"Katniss!" I scream one last time, my voice swallowed by the noise of the arena being destroyed, and then I am yanked backward and the doors of the hovercraft slide closed, sealing me in. I whip around, ready to fight. I see a lined face with cold gray eyes and then something sharp is pricking into my arm, and I black out.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Peeta was taken prisoner. He is thought to be dead. Most likely he is dead. It is probably best if he is dead..."~Katniss, Mockingjay_

Chapter 1

When I open my eyes, my lids feel heavy and my vision is blurry. My aching brain struggles to remember where I am, and why I feel so exhausted. I try to sit up, but there are restraints on my hands and feet, holding me down. I am in a white room, with no windows and only one door. A fluorescent light buzzes overhead.

Vague memories start to form in my head. The arena. The plan with the lightning. But it went wrong…at least, it must have. I remember explosions, fire, and screams. I remember Katniss, calling my name…

Katniss! I try to jerk upright again but the bindings still hold fast. Is she here? Is she safe? Confusion fills me and then terror. I'm clearly not in the arena anymore. But this room is somewhat familiar… It looks a bit like the room I was kept in after the first Hunger Games. After I won.

But I can't have won this one, can I? I didn't fight. I don't remember winning. But what if the explosion killed everyone else, and I was the only survivor?

I feel like something heavy and hot is pressing down on my chest. I can't breathe. Winning is no victory for me. I did not intend to win, not this time, not the last time. _She _is supposed to come out, and not only for their plan to use her for their precious rebellion. She is supposed to stay alive because I cannot live in a world without Katniss. She's supposed to stay alive because I love her.

"Hey!" I shout, my voice hoarse and raw from disuse. I need someone, anyone, to come and tell me what happened. "Hello? Someone get me out of this!" I struggle against the straps holding me down but I'm too weak to do any damage to them. No one answers my calls. I fall back against the table, defeated. My thoughts keep on racing.

Slowly, I start to calm down as more and more of my memories return to me. I remember hearing only two cannon shots, and both of them were before I heard Katniss call my name. But I could have easily missed the others in the chaos after the explosion. I also remember them taking Johanna. If they took her out of the arena, there is a chance they got Katniss out, too.

I wonder where I am. Am I back at the Capitol? Will Haymitch be here to see me? I've never wanted to talk to anyone else more in my entire life. He will have all the answers I need.

Hours pass, and no one comes. I go back to yelling. How can they just ignore me like this? The longer I am left alone, the more my dread grows. Haymitch wouldn't leave me to shout at the walls like this. He would come for me, or tell someone else to at least come to calm me down. Which makes me wonder if maybe I'm not safe yet. In fact, maybe I'm in even more danger than I was in the arena.

My shouting increases.

Finally, the door opens and an Avox walks in. At least, I think he's an Avox. His face is stony as he walks over to my bed. I wish they would have sent someone who could actually give me some information, but he is better than nothing.

Even though I know he can't answer, I demand, "Where am I? Why am I here? Where's Katniss?"

He doesn't even look at me. I realize that he has just removed a syringe from his pocket and is inspecting it, as if making sure it's satisfactory. My instinct is to flinch away, but I can't move, strapped down like this.

"Don't—" I start to say, but it's too late. He inserts the syringe in my arm and I'm out in a matter of seconds.

* * *

I wake up to the sound of voices. I open my eyes only to have them fly shut again at the harsh light shining down on me. I dare to squint around at my surroundings. I'm in a different room now. It's bigger, still blank, with only one door. The white walls are cast in shadow. The only light is the brilliant lamp that is attached to the ceiling and is pointing at me. I can make out shadowy faces around me but their features aren't visible.

"He's awake," someone murmurs. "Should we sedate him?"

I flex my fingers and find that my wrists are still strapped to the table. Wonderful.

"No," says another voice. "I want to see what he'll do."

I look around at each of them. There seems to be about five people gathered around me, although I can't be sure. I want to start yelling again but I know that won't get me anywhere. I have to take this slowly if I want to stay conscious. I take a deep breath and then say carefully, "Where am I?"

"You're in the Capitol, of course," a woman's voice answers, her voice soothing. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

I squirm against my bindings. "Why am I tied up like this?"

"Just a precaution," a man says. "Many tributes are quite savage when they come out of the arena."

I shake my head, feeling dazed. "What happened in the arena? I didn't…win, did I?"

I'm not sure, but I think I see them exchange dark looks. "No. No one won," someone finally tells me.

I don't know what to think of that. "That doesn't make sense. Someone has to win."

"There was a complication," a deep voice says grimly. "But that isn't important now. We—"

I interrupt before he can say anything else. "Why am I here? Why are you all…_studying _me?"

They ignore my second question but one of the men leans closer to me, so that I can make out his face a little better. He has purplish hair slicked back on his head, and his skin is a bizarre shade of orange. Yes, this is definitely the Capitol. "We need answers, Peeta," he says, and for some reason it unnerves me that he knows my name, even though it's only logical that he does. Everyone must know me.

"Answers about what?" I'm so confused. I look helplessly around at them.

"About many things," the deep-voiced man says again, a touch of impatience entering his voice. "About the so-called Rebellion, about what happened in the arena…and about Katniss Everdeen."

I go very still at the mention of her name. "Where is she?"

No one answers. "So you'll be staying with us for a while," the woman says in that same comforting voice she used before. "We have many plans for you, Peeta Mellark. You will do great things for your country. Great things, indeed." And then something sharp goes into my arm and the world fades away again.


	3. Chapter 3

" _I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive." ~Caesar Flickerman, Mockingjay_

Chapter 3

The first thing I notice when I drift blearily back into consciousness is that I'm no longer bound to a table. In fact, I can feel that I'm lying on a soft mattress, between downy blankets. And for just one beautiful instant, I can pretend that the Quarter Quell never happened, that I'm in my victor's mansion, and I will get up and Katniss will be there.

But when I open my eyes, it is clear that I am not in District 12 anymore.

I sit up slowly; my head aches. I take in the room I'm in, feeling something cold and heavy turn over in my chest. It looks very similar to the room I was put in before the 74th Hunger Games. The bed I'm lying on is huge, piled with blankets made of expensive satin and velvet. Soft curtains fall around it, giving me some unexpected privacy. The Capitol does not leave you to your own business. The Capitol is always watching.

I have to roll several times before I even make it to the end of the gigantic bed. I throw the curtains aside, perhaps a little more forcefully than is necessary. I stand shakily, and almost fall back against the bed again. My legs are weak. How long has it been since the last time I walked? I rub my false leg, trying to get out the stiffness.

The rest of the room is stunning, of course. There are doorways that doubtless lead to other rooms as ornate as the bedroom. There is a fireplace—with an impenetrable wall of glass covering the fire, of course—and a rug made of fur stretched out on the floor. I look at it with disgust; in District 12, fur is used for survival, not decoration.

Curtains are drawn across the tall, arched window. I stride toward it immediately, forgetting about my weariness. I wrench the curtains back, my heart pounding, wondering if I can escape…but it was stupid of me to even consider it. There are thick bars over the window, preventing escape and obstructing my view of the outside world. From what I can see, I am definitely in the Capitol.

I pace back and forth in front of the door, waiting, waiting for someone to come and tell me something. Why am I here? They can't just leave me in here without telling me anything. I deserve answers. But no one comes for a long time.

Until finally, a girl—most likely an Avox—enters the room, carrying a tray of food. She sets it down on my bedside table. I watch her for a moment, ready to pounce if she tries to leave without giving me information…or at least taking me to someone who knows what's happening.

"What's going on?" I ask her slowly. She looks at me with solemn brown eyes and just shakes her head once, a very tiny movement. She isn't supposed to talk to me. But I can't let her go. She is the first contact I've had in days.

I catch her arm before she can walk past me. "Where is Katniss?" I say forcefully, and something flashes in her eyes.

I'm distracted by the expression that crossed her face; that gives her enough of an opening to jerk out of my grasp and head quickly for the door. I hear her lock me inside again. I sink onto the bed and hold my head in my hands. This is horrible déjà vu—trapped in a Capitol-style room, unable to obtain answers, not knowing what will come next. And the fear is strong.

About ten minutes later, the door unlocks again and someone else walks in. I'm relieved to see that it is not an Avox.

I jump to my feet, but before I can start throwing out every question swirling in my mind the man holds up a hand to silence me. "I believe you want an explanation for why you are here," he says calmly. He is wearing a white suit and his eyes are an unnatural shade of green—a shade that can only be created by surgery.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Then come with me." He turns abruptly and walks out of the room, leaving the door wide open. I hesitate a moment and then follow him. It crosses my mind to run, or attack him, but if he has enough confidence to turn his back on me like that, that is because he knows that I will never get out of here alive if I run. So I follow.

He takes me to a sitting room of sorts, with velvet chairs and a roaring fire in the fireplace. There are other people seated around the fire, talking in casual voices. Their disturbing Capitol appearances make my skin crawl. I feel so bland next to them.

The man in the suit gestures to a chair. "Please, sit."

I do, because I'm so tired, even though I don't want to obey anything he says.

One of the women sitting near me smiles. Her teeth are freakishly white, her skin pulled too tight, her hair a deep shade of indigo. When she speaks, I recognize the soothing voice from the observation room, when I was being studied. "Peeta, we brought you here to explain some things to you."

"Then explain," I say tensely.

"Actually," the man in the suit says, cutting a look at the woman, "we want you to explain some things to us, first."

I fold my arms and give him a hard stare. I won't be saying anything.

"You must have heard rumors about a rebellion forming before you went into the arena," the man begins.

"Which arena?" I say in a steely voice, even though we all know that I know, that I'm just reminding them that they have put me through two hellish experiences in the Hunger Games.

"The Quarter Quell," he corrects himself. "What have you heard about an uprising?"

"Nothing," I say in an offhand voice, sinking lower in my chair. "Nothing at all."

A few of the people exchange dark looks. "Peeta, please," the blue-haired woman says pleadingly. "We need your help."

"You abducted me."

"You can go free soon," she assures me. The man in the suit gives her another sharp look. I decide that she may seem kind, but she is willing to feed me all manner of lies, whatever it takes to get me to talk.

I sigh. "Look, maybe I did hear rumors, but I know nothing about the rebellion, okay? Except that—" I stop. I can't tell them about Katniss. I can't tell them she is the face of the uprising. But they have already caught my slipup.

The second woman leans forward. She is skinnier than some of the people in District 12, but it looks like she has tried hard to get herself to look that way. It makes me furious. "Except that what?" she says eagerly.

I just stare at the carpeted floor.

The woman with the indigo hair reaches over and pats my arm. I jerk away from her, but she doesn't seem fazed. "This is about Katniss, isn't it?" she says in a sickeningly sympathetic voice. "You meant to sacrifice yourself in the arena so that she could get out alive. Why? Is it because of the rebellion?"

More fury bubbles up inside of me. I am not protecting her for the sake of the rebellion. But I force myself to remain silent. I'm not even sure these Capitol monsters know how to love.

The man in the suit sighs. He is the one with the orange skin. "Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be, Peeta. We have to know about what is going on in the Districts. It is your duty to tell us."

"My duty?" I burst out, unable to contain my rage. "What do I owe you? You've put me through the most horrible experience of my life—twice. You did it for your own entertainment. And Katniss…" My voice sticks in my throat. "You've done the same things to her. And I will never forgive you for that." I shut up then, because I know I've already said too much. I can't let my temper get the best of me here.

The man in the suit stands up. His face is steel. "Yes, your duty," he says coldly. "You _will _help us, Mr. Mellark. In more ways than one. You'll see." At the sight of the little smile on his face, my blood turns icy. Then he turns to an Avox standing by the door and says, "Please escort our friend here to the Interrogation Room. It's time for the venom."


	4. Chapter 4

_"It's impossible to be the Mockingjay. Impossible to complete even this one sentence. Because now I know that everything I say will be directly taken out on Peeta. Result in his torture. But not his death, no, nothing so merciful as that. Snow will ensure that his life is much worse than death"~Katniss, Mockingjay _

Chapter 4

When I hear the word "venom," little warning sirens go off in my head. There are two Peacekeepers that come out of nowhere, looming over me, and I know they will drag me to the Interrogation Room if they have to. For one wild moment, I want to attack them, wrestle their guns away and shoot them, just like I would in the Games.

But the Games are over, and I have put that sort of violence behind me. So I stand up, not looking at either of them, and I let them escort me to the door. The Avox stands waiting for us. His eyes are gray and hard. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I search for any sympathy or mercy, anything that might prove to me that I have not been sucked into a world of soulless robots. But he breaks our eye contact and leads my guards and me out of the room.

I'm not an idiot. I know that there won't be a lot of talking going on in this "Interrogation Room." But I have already made a promise to myself. No matter how much I am beaten and bloodied, even if I'm within an inch of death, I will not betray her. I will not whisper a single one of her secrets. I will hold her face in my mind and survive.

Just like she has always done.

We walk down the silent hallways. I stand tall; I will not show them that I'm afraid, even though I know what's coming, and my hands have started to shake ever so slightly.

The Avox stops in front of a big metal door. He enters a code, and too late I realize that maybe I should be paying attention to the combination he punched in. He stands aside as the door slides open. One of the Peacekeepers nudges me forward with the barrel of his gun.

The inside of the Interrogation Room is white and blank, with no windows or doors aside from the one I just came through and a small closet at the other end of the room. I wouldn't be surprised to find that one of the walls is actually a window where the Capitol hounds can watch every little pain I go through, studying and observing, just like they always do.

There is a single chair sitting in the middle of the room, metal and high-backed, with rings on the arms and legs that could strap someone in. A table just like the one I was strapped to when I first came here is pushed up against the wall. I feel a shudder pass through me.

There is a man leaning against the wall. He is fiddling with a little device in his hands and murmuring into an earpiece. It takes him a few seconds to notice me—or maybe he just wants to remind me that I am no more important than the other people he has "interrogated."

When he looks up, I feel a wave of revulsion at his appearance. His skin is tinted green, his hair is gelled into sharp spikes of red, and his eyes have been reshaped to look bigger. When he smiles, his mouth, too, is much too wide. His teeth are too small, as is his nose. I wonder if they purposely chose someone who looked so frightening to do this.

"Ah, you must be Peeta," he says, and I can easily detect the undercurrent of coldness beneath his friendly tone. I wish he would stop smiling. He strides forward, hand outstretched. I fold my arms tightly over my chest and fix him with a hard stare. I will not touch that hand.

He pulls it back when he realizes that I won't be accepting his handshake. He continues to smile. "I'm Dr. Hanshaw," he tells me. I almost laugh—_Dr. _Hanshaw. He's no doctor, he's a murderer.

"Please, Peeta, have a seat," he says, and he takes me by the arm with a clenching grip and leads me forcefully over to the lone chair. He pushes me into it and with a brush of his fingers, he has closed the chains over my wrists and ankles. I don't bother struggling.

"So I understand we have a few little tidbits of information to go over," Dr. Hanshaw says. I hate him.

"There is nothing to go over," I say coldly. "I don't know anything."

Dr. Hanshaw purses his lips, the first time his smile has dropped off his hideous face. "I see." He sighs, as if he is being forced to do something very undesirable. "They told me to go straight to the venom, but I don't see any harm in seeing if we can't do this with a few other methods first. I suppose you have never heard of a heat-magnifier, Peeta?"

I stare straight ahead and say nothing.

"Actually, I happen to have one right here. We could have a little demonstration." He strides over to the closet and opens it. With a lot of grunts and puffing, he drags out what appears to be a large cylinder made of glass.

He manages to get it to the center of the room, right in front of me. He steps back with a sigh of satisfaction. "A little heavy, but it's efficient. Watch." Then Dr. Hanshaw turns to the Avox, who has been standing silently by the door this entire time. "You. Thief."

I watch the Avox's eyes widen fractionally. Dr. Hanshaw's voice has turned impatient. "Come here."

The Avox hesitates, but then he holds his chin high and walks over to the doctor with jerky steps. He stops and stares past Dr. Hanshaw, and I admire his courage.

"Put your hand here," Dr. Hanshaw says, his voice still several degrees colder than when he spoke to me. The Avox doesn't move for a moment, so Dr. Hanshaw reaches out and grabs the Avox's hand. Hard. I can see his fingers constricting, probably cutting off the Avox's circulation. The Avox's eye twitches but other than that he gives no reaction.

Dr. Hanshaw guides the Avox's hand over the cylinder. He keeps his hold on it as he slowly crouches down and touches a small screen on the base of the glass. Then he jerks his own back and I watch in horror as flames burst to life on top of the cylinder, igniting the Avox's hand.

The Avox's mouth opens and a horrible noise comes out. He cannot form words without his tongue, but oh, how he screams. His eyes are wide and staring, his whole body strains backward as it desperately tries to pull its hand away from the agony, and at first I can't understand why he keeps his hand in the fire.

Then the fire flickers out, as quickly as it came, and I see now. Keeping the charred, blistered, twisted hand in place is a spindly silver claw that has shot out of the top of the cylinder along with the flames.

The Avox continues to make little whimpering noises, hunched over his hand. I see tears drip down his cheeks, landing on the floor. I cannot take my eyes off of his mangled hand.

"Admittedly, I did have it on a rather high setting," Dr. Hanshaw says. He looks so calm, almost bored, and I hate him even more. He can inflict that sort of pain on another human being and feel not an ounce of guilt over it. "I am tempted to try it on the highest, but I am told it would incinerate the hand, and that sounds like a pain of a mess to clean up." He gives a small shrug. I am pulling against my restraints without realizing it, wanting so badly to strangle him. Red licks the corners of my vision. I am back in the Games, and he is just another tribute standing in my way to victory.

Dr. Hanshaw looks at me, and a smirk flickers across his eerily wide mouth. "Ah, you have a temper, I see," he remarks. "That's good. I can work with a temper."

"You are sick," I tell him a low voice that trembles with fury.

"So they tell me." Dr. Hanshaw still looks infuriatingly unconcerned. "Now. I am willing to bet that you might be more open to having a little chitchat with me." He has the nerve to wink at me. I want to throw up.

It is tempting, so, so tempting, to give in, to tell him everything I know. Even though I have suffered through two Games, I'm not sure I can handle that kind of concentrated pain. I can already feel the heat on my skin, the flames licking up my arm. But I made a promise to myself, to her.

So I tell him, "Go to hell."

And he clucks his tongue like he's extremely disappointed in me, but I can see him smiling. "Then let's begin."


	5. Chapter 5

_"In this way, Peeta's not hard to predict. While I was wallowing around on the floor of that cellar, thinking only of myself, he was here, thinking only of me. Shame isn't a strong enough word for what I feel"~Katniss, Catching Fire_

Chapter 5

Hanshaw barely gives the Avox a second glance. "Will you get him out of here?" he says in disgust to one of the guards, whose face is gray from watching the torture. The guard doesn't move for a moment, and Hanshaw's harsh voice snaps him out of his trance. "Are you going to move, or would you rather take a turn with the heat magnifier?"

The guard gives a start and then stumbles forward, hesitantly gripping the Avox beneath the arms. Hanshaw carelessly taps the base of the instrument with his toe, and the silver claw releases the Avox's wrist. He's unconscious from the pain. The guard drags him laboriously out, and I notice he is averting his eyes from the Avox's destroyed hand. From experience, I know that the Capitol could fix that hand and leave it as good as new.

But they won't do it. Not for a thief.

I can feel my temper rising again, pushing back my fear. But I won't give Hanshaw the satisfaction of knowing that he's getting to me.

Hanshaw has disappeared into the closet again. I hear him rummaging around, and a moment later he returns, wheeling a tall cart with long straps attached to the top. He sees me staring and gives me a sinister smile.

"I call this little beauty the Bender. I haven't used it in a while, actually. It's nice to finally have a guest that is worthy of its…talents."

I almost laugh out loud when he says "guest," though I don't find anything funny about it. I'm not paying him a friendly visit. I am a prisoner here. He knows it, but he won't say it. He is still keeping up that ridiculous pretense of chivalry.

"All right, Peeta." Hanshaw stops in front of me with his cart, fixing me with a stare from his piercing eyes. "If you would be so kind as to place your arm right here, between the straps."

I meet his eyes and say coldly, "I can't. I'm strapped in."

"Ah, that you are." He smiles that impossibly wide smile again, and touches the underside of the left arm of my chair. My restraint pops open and I don't have time to lunge for the other wrist restraint before he is grabbing my arm and forcing it down on the table on wheels in front of me.

He holds my arm down effortlessly with one hand while tying me into the bands with the other. For a moment, I feel my bruised pride through my fear and fury. Am I really weak enough that he can bend me around like a leaf?

But then I realize, no, that's not it. He's had Capitol work done on more than just his face. Though no muscles bulge out of his arms, I know he has had his strength surgically—or perhaps chemically—enhanced through Capitol means. It disgusts me.

Once he has gotten my arm belted in, he stands back and studies his work with satisfaction. "Right. Would you like me to explain how it works, Peeta, or shall we skip right ahead to the demonstration?"

I look anywhere but at him and don't answer.

He sighs. "You know, Peeta, all of this would be a lot simpler if you would cooperate. For instance, you can answer my questions. Things will go more smoothly if you do." And then he reaches for a small, polished lever, wraps his fingers around it, and pulls.

I now understand why he calls it the Bender.

The bands confining my arm constrict, squeezing until it feels like my bones will shatter. And as if that weren't enough, it starts to twist, bending my arm and shoulder into an unnatural position, one that my body cannot adopt and cannot bear.

Without meaning to, I let out a cry of pain. Through the haze of agony, I see Hanshaw smiling at me, his eyes taking every bit of me in. I grit my teeth and close my eyes, praying for it to stop.

I hear a scraping sound and the pressure releases. I sag against the cart, my breath coming in shaky gasps.

"And now you've learned a lesson, I hope," he says calmly. "Answer when you are spoken to. Have you learned this lesson, Peeta?"

I dare to stay silent.

He pulls the lever. The bands snap tight and bend. I feel like my arm will be ripped from its socket. I bite on my lip, bite hard, because it is the only thing that can keep me from screaming.

"I said, _have you learned your lesson?" _

"Yes," I gasp.

He releases the lever. Pain shoots up and down my arm, down into my back.

"You know, they used to use something similar to this, a long time ago," Hanshaw says, as if he is making small talk. "For medical purposes."

I can only hope that he doesn't expect me to respond. I can taste blood from biting my lip.

"I, however, believe that this purpose is far more effective."

And just for fun, he pulls the lever again. I can feel him watching my face, enjoying the agony I can't hide. A groan escapes and I bite my lip again. Sweat runs down my forehead.

"Do you see the consequences now, Peeta?" His voice has dropped to a whisper. "Do you see what happens when you go against your country? When you follow stupid, foolish girls like Katniss Everdeen? Stop acting like a lovesick buffoon."

"Don't," is all I can gasp. I don't know why I say it. But that one word seems to sum up what I'm feeling. _Don't talk to me like you know me. Don't talk about her. Don't say her name. Don't pull that lever. Oh, heaven and hell, please don't pull that lever. _

Hanshaw leans closer to me. There is a slight smile on his stretched lips. "Yes, Peeta," he says softly. "It hurts, doesn't it? But you can make the pain go away."

I want to ask, how? I want to say, anything. I'll do anything. But he doesn't give me the chance. He pulls the lever, the straps go taut, they pull and bend and strain my muscles and bone, and I feel like my arm is splintering, and it will shatter at any moment.

And he doesn't release the lever like before. He keeps it pressed forward, no longer smiling, his eyes fixed on mine. Deadly serious. And suddenly he isn't a Capitol joke to me. He is real. He can kill me. In fact, I know he will kill me.

Maybe he will kill me anyway, even if I tell him what they all want to hear. Maybe it won't matter. I would rather die with all of those secrets locked up inside of me than die with them in the hands of the Capitol.

So I close my eyes, I bite my lip, I endure.

I don't know how long he pulls that lever. Maybe it is seconds, maybe it is minutes, but it feels like hours. It reminds me of when Cato slashed me with his sword in the first Games. My leg felt like fire. I remember the blood, the infection. And I remember her. I remember her finding me. I remember her washing my clothes and helping me into the cave. I remember her lying next to me, whispering stories to me, holding my hand.

_Katniss. _I say her name in my head. It makes me feel stronger, so I say it again. _Katniss, Katniss, Katniss._ I hope she is alive. I hope she is safe. Without that hope for her, I have nothing.

"What are you saying?" Hanshaw says sharply, and I realize I have mumbled her name out loud.

I almost stay silent, but then I remember what happens when I stay silent. But when I open my mouth to answer, only a strangled cry comes out. Finally, mercifully, he lets the lever go. If not for the restraints holding me into my chair, I would have fallen flat on the floor and not made a single move to catch myself.

"What did you say?" he demands, leaning down so that his face is level with mine.

"Katniss," I wheeze. "I said Katniss."

I don't know what I expect from him. Anger, or laughter, or annoyance, or taunts. Instead he smiles at me, and says, "I think we're done for today."

* * *

_Thanks for reviewing and reading, guys, it tugs on my wee heartstrings. _


	6. Chapter 6

"_You have to imagine what it was like in the arena…That giant clock ticking away your life. Every hour promising some new horror. You have to imagine that in the past two days, sixteen people have died…the last eight will be dead by morning. Save one. The victor. And your plan is that it won't be you." ~Peeta Mellark, Mockingjay _

_Most of the dialogue between Caesar and Peeta is taken directly from Mockingjay (which is in fact owned by one Suzanne Collins, who is not me, because I was born with the name I'm-a-Muppet-of-a-girl, not Suzanne Collins). _

Chapter 6

I don't sleep much that night. My arm burns and I keep wondering if something is broken, or fractured, or torn, but they don't send in any doctors—real ones, not the kind that tortures.

But it's not only my arm that keeps me up. It's my fear of the future. If that was my first day with Hanshaw, who knows what I'll have to face tomorrow? And the day after that? It'll only get worse. It'll only be a matter of time before I crumble and blurt out everything I know. At least I don't know much. Haymitch made sure of that.

Just thinking about Haymitch makes anger flare inside of me, but I don't have the energy to feel angry, so it dies away again, leaving me feeling numb. I don't know why Haymitch hid all of this from us. Or maybe just from me. Maybe Katniss knows what's going on.

And then I have to start worrying about her, wondering if she's here, too, under all of this terrible interrogation. But I already know that she isn't. If she were here, they wouldn't waste time questioning me about her. They would work her until she told them everything their little hearts wanted to know. Just thinking about that makes hot rage boil up inside of me. As long as I'm living, they will not lay a finger on her.

I finally drift into a fitful doze. It feels like I've just fallen asleep when the door is opening and I hear the heavy footfalls of Peacekeepers as they march into my room. I pull the covers over my head and try to ignore them, even though I know it won't do me any good.

Someone rips the covers off of me and I sit up, mostly out of shock, and my shoulder aches in response.

"Get up," one of the soldiers says roughly. I'm surprised they didn't send Avoxes. "You've got an interview."

I just stare at him uncomprehendingly. "Interview?"

He doesn't explain, just grabs my arm—luckily my uninjured one—and drags me out of bed like I weigh nothing at all. He pushes me toward the closet and orders me to get dressed. Then he leaves the room, but I know he's standing just outside, waiting for me.

I open the closet, and only one outfit is hanging there, begging me to put it on. The clothing is nice, too nice. I don't want to wear it. I fear I'll look like I've become a part of the Capitol. But it's no different from when I was interviewed before the Games. My clothing does not define me. So I take it off its hanger and I put it on.

And then my old prep team bursts into the room, gushing over me, telling me how happy they are to see me. They act like they don't know why I'm here, or what's happened to me since I came. They spread creamy stuff on my skin so that it looks healthy and glowing, and they style my hair like they used to for the cameras before the first Games. I try to avoid looking in the mirror. I don't want to see a healthy, content-looking person staring back at me…because I'm not either of those things. Maybe they can make me look it on the outside, but inside I am the opposite.

I wonder briefly if my prep team really doesn't know why I'm here or what I'm going through, but then I notice that they're taking special care with my hurt arm. They know, but they won't say anything.

They walk me to the auditorium where I will do my interview, no doubt with good old Caesar Flickerman. The guard follows close behind us, probably believing that I could overpower my prep team and escape. But I wouldn't hurt them. They are too innocent, too ignorant.

People are rushing around, readying cameras and seating the audience, who are all chattering excitedly. I stay backstage as long as I can. I don't want to see the adoring eyes of those people turned on me. They have no idea what's going on.

I see Caesar Flickerman take his seat onstage from where I stand concealed. A prep team of his own is fussing over his hair and brushing powder onto his cheeks. He waves them off impatiently, and that's all I see, because someone has grabbed my shoulders and spun me around.

It's one of the Capitol men who studied me, the one who doesn't seem to have much patience for me. His fingers are digging into my shoulders, causing agony for my hurt arm, and he looks at me with dark eyes.

"You listen to me, and you listen well," he says softly. "You must act as if everything is fine. You must pretend that you are happy here. Answer his questions, say everything is fine. Do nothing else, or it will end badly for you."

I can't resist saying coldly, "You mean more torture?"

His eyes harden. "All right. Then it'll end badly for _her. _Is that enough motivation?" Then he releases me, turns abruptly, and walks away.

I watch him go until someone jubilantly calls my name. "Peeta!" I turn to find Caesar walking toward me, arms outstretched, grinning from ear to ear. He actually hugs me, albeit a quick embrace, and then he leads me by the uninjured arm to my seat onstage. The crowd cheers when they see me. I ignore them and wonder how Caesar knew about my arm, or maybe it's just a coincidence that he's careful not to touch it.

He sits down in his seat and whispers to me, "It'll be all right, Peeta. I'll help you through it." Then he pats my hand and winks. I hear the cameraman murmur that we're on in three, two, one…

The red light on the camera switches on, and I force myself to relax into my chair and look like this is the most normal thing in the world.

I wonder if she is watching.

Caesar grins at the camera and then turns to me, his eyes becoming more serious. "So…Peeta…welcome back."

I've always been good at this—putting on a mask, acting for the cameras. Haymitch always used to encourage me to play up this skill. And now seems like a good time to do that. _Then it'll end badly for her. _Even if she's safe somewhere, that doesn't mean I'm taking any risks when it comes to Katniss.

I smile a little. "I bet you thought you'd done your last interview with me, Caesar."

"I confess, I did. The night before the Quarter Quell…well, who ever thought we'd see you again?"

"It wasn't part of my plan, that's for sure," I say, trying to look like the memory displeases me. I try to ignore the burning eyes of the audience as they hang eagerly on my every word while I am taking a trip back to the arena.

"I think it was clear to all of us what your plan was. To sacrifice yourself in the arena so that Katniss Everdeen and your child could survive."

That is partly true. There is no baby. But I always intended to save Katniss. "That was it," I say. "Clear and simple. But other people had plans as well." Haymitch flashes in my mind and I get angry again.

Caesar looks at me with pity in his eyes. "Why don't you tell us about that last night in the arena? Help us sort a few things out."

I nod because I know I have to, even though this is the last thing I want to do. But this is for Katniss. This act is for her, and I guess it's for me, too. I have to act like I'm crazy in love with her, which never was very hard to portray, as it's true.

So I tell them. I tell them what it was like in that muggy, hellish arena, where the clock ticks away seconds until your death, where you know from the beginning that you are going to die to save the one person you love most. I hear a hush fall over the entire crowd, but I have no hope that I'm getting anything through to them. They are not appalled by the horrors of the Games. They are enthralled by them. I am entertainment. I live to make sure they don't get bored.

My anger keeps building up inside of me, and I struggle to contain it. Maybe it will come in handy for the next part in my act, for when I defend her viciously, when I shunt her out of the spotlight. This is not her fault. She didn't know what she was doing. That is what I will say.

"You were too caught up in Beetee's plan to electrify the lake," says Caesar.

"Too busy playing allies with the others. I should have never let them separate us!" I let my frustration pour out through my voice. "That's when I lost her." I tell him what I remember from that night, confessing that I was so confused I don't recall much.

Caesar is still looking at me with that pity in his eyes, and that just makes me angrier. "Katniss blew it out, Peeta," he tells me. "You've seen the footage."

Yes. They showed me the footage after my first meeting with Dr. Hanshaw. And Katniss looks like she knew exactly what she was doing, and now I have to cover for that.

I don't have to work to make my voice hard when I answer him. "She didn't know what she was doing. None of us could follow Beetee's plan. You can see her trying to figure out what to do with that wire."

"All right. It just looks suspicious. As if she was part of the rebels' plan all along."

Fear and anger get me on my feet. I put my face close to Caesar's, mostly because I know that this will make me more convincing. But my emotions are real. I am shouting now. "Really? And was it part of her plan for Johanna to nearly kill her? For that electric shock to paralyze her? To trigger the bombing? She didn't know, Caesar! Neither of us knew anything except that we were trying to keep each other alive!"

Caesar puts his hands on my chest and gently nudges me backward. "Okay, Peeta. I believe you."

I back off and sit down again, feeling a little guilty for blowing up at Caesar like that. But I can see he understands. And maybe, just maybe, this has been a help to Katniss.

He asks me about Haymitch, but by this point my heart isn't in it anymore. I answer flatly and I hope that he an see that I am done with this, I can barely stand to answer another of his questions. Finally, he says with a sympathetic pat to my shoulder, "We can stop now if you want."

"Was there more to discuss?" I hope my voice isn't as bitter as it sounds to my ears.

"I was going to ask your thoughts on the war, but if you're too upset…"

I straighten up. "Oh, I'm not to upset to answer that." I find the camera and stare into it, imagining I am looking at her now, that she is watching me. I suddenly feel brave, thinking of her invisible support. "I want everyone watching—whether you're on the Capitol or the rebel side—to stop for just a moment and think about what this war could mean. For human beings. We almost went extinct fighting one another before. Now our numbers are even fewer. Our conditions more tenuous. Is this really what we want to do? Kill ourselves off completely? In the hopes that—what? Some decent species will inherit the smoking remains of the earth?"

Caesar looks uncomfortable. "I don't really…I'm not sure I'm following…"

I look to him, now. "We can't fight one another, Caesar. There won't be enough of us left to keep going. If everybody doesn't lay down their weapons—and I mean, as in _very soon—_it's all over, anyway."

"So…you're calling for a cease-fire?"

"Yes. I'm calling for a cease-fire." I suddenly feel so weary, like I've burned out all my energy. "Now why don't we ask the guards to take me back to my quarters so I can build another hundred card houses?" I say it for her benefit. I don't want her to worry for me.

"All right. I think that wraps it up. So now back to our regularly scheduled programming." The camera light turns off and Caesar immediately turns to me, shakes my hand. "Thank you, Peeta," he says quietly. "I'm sorry."

Then he gets up and leaves, and my guards come to take me away, and I feel nothing but emptiness, because I know that no matter what I do, nothing can save her. Somehow, they will always find her.

* * *

_Thanks to all of you who reviewed! Here, have a llama. Keep reviewing and there are more llamas where that came from! _


	7. Chapter 7

"_But it's the look in [Peeta's] eyes—angry yet unfocused—that frightens me the most." ~Katniss Everdeen, Mockingjay _

Chapter 7

My guards station themselves stoically on each side of me, come to take me back to my room. As I'm escorted out of the auditorium, I catch sight of the Capitol man, the one who threatened Katniss. He watches me with an expressionless face, and I can't tell whether he's happy with my show or not. I called for a cease-fire. I know that's what he wants. He can't possibly condemn me for defending Katniss, can he?

"Come on," one of my guards grunts. He has a face that looks as if it has never known the pleasure of smiling. He takes my arm, and I want to yank it away so badly, but I know he's stronger than I am.

We've only turned down a few hallways when I realize what's happening. "You aren't taking me to my room," I say slowly. My escorts don't respond. I feel sick to my stomach, and a spasm of pain rockets up my shoulder just from thinking about Hanshaw.

We stop at the same room as before, where he tortured me. I try to dig in my heels but it doesn't do any good, the guards don't even have to work to drag me inside. Dr. Hanshaw is at the sink, washing his hands and humming cheerily to himself. He turns his head to give me a too-wide smile, and I feel like I've forgotten how to breathe.

"Ah, Peeta, welcome back," he purrs. "I was told that you might be paying me another visit."

I fix him with a cold stare. "I didn't say anything yesterday," I tell him. "And I won't say anything today."

Hanshaw's smile doesn't fade. "Oh, you told me plenty, Peeta," he says, and for a terrible second I wonder if I blurted out every one of my secrets without realizing it, when I couldn't bear the pain any longer.

Hanshaw turns off the sink and takes his time drying his hands on a towel. When he turns to look at me, he has a little amused smirk on his face. His eyes don't leave mine as he nods toward the chair with the arm and leg restraints. "Have a seat, Peeta."

I consider ignoring him, or even better, spitting in his face, but that'll just make things even worse. So I shrug away from my guards and stalk over to sit in the chair. I feel dizzy with fear but I refuse to let it show on my face. I lock eyes with Hanshaw, trying to stare him down, but he just keeps on smiling at me, a creepy smile that doesn't touch his eyes.

"Hmm." He tips his head to one side and squeezes one eye shut, studying me like a piece of complicated art. "On second thought, why don't you lay right here?" He gestures to the metal table pushed up against the wall. My fingers curl around the armrests of my chair, maybe hoping that if they cling hard enough, he can't make me get onto that table. I know he's moving me from place to place just to show off that he has that much power over me. I'm his puppet.

"What did we say yesterday about cooperation, Peeta?" says Hanshaw, clucking his tongue reprovingly. "You'll only make things worse."

With a huge effort of self-control, I stiffly stand up and walk over to the table, where I stand and stare down at it, certain that the moment my back touches its shiny surface I will feel more pain.

"Go on," he urges. I lie down on it and close my eyes, every inch of me quivering.

"You're frightened," he says, and he sounds pleased about it. "That's good. Fear builds character. It also gives power. Power to me." Then he laughs like he's made some hilarious joke. He crouches down and starts fiddling with something underneath the table. I can hear my own shallow breathing and racing heartbeat. I don't know what he's doing down there, but it's nothing good.

"Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire," I hear him say. "I always thought that had a nice ring to it, didn't you? Of course, that may just have to do with the fact that I love fire. I've been fascinated with it since childhood. I use it a lot in my studies nowadays."

_In his studies? More like in his torture. _

Then he is looming over me again, his face hovering over mine. He speaks in a low voice. "Perhaps it is your turn to be on fire, Peeta."

And then I hear the click of a button, and horrible heat sears through the table, racing through the metal and into me. I cry out and arch my back, my body desperately trying to get away from the pain, but he has strapped down my wrists and ankles without me even realizing. I feel like I'm being cooked alive. It feels as if there is nothing at all between the fire and me, and I have been thrown into the flames to crumble into ash and blow away in the wind.

Strangled cries escape me and I make no effort to stop them. Hanshaw watches me with a blank face, the corner of his mouth twisted up in the tiniest hint of a smile. And I do something I never thought I would do, something that makes me disgusted with myself.

I beg him for mercy. "Please, turn it off," I shout. "_Stop!" _But he doesn't stop. In fact, I feel the heat intensifying, although maybe it is just my imagination. Rage suddenly explodes inside of me, perhaps ignited by the fire, and I bellow, "_I'll never tell you! Just kill me! I will never tell you!" _Because death would be better than this. Anything would be better.

Then, very slowly, he reaches out and turns off the fire, taking his time. The table remains searing hot, and I can smell smoke, although I can't tell if it's from the fire or my own burned flesh and hair.

I hear another button pressed and the table goes instantly cool. It burns against my blazing skin. Air catches in my throat with every breath, and I shut my eyes and try to will away the agony that envelops me.

"I have a confession to make, Peeta," he says, and I hate that he says my name so much. I hate the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. That is what I choose to notice through the haze of pain clouding my head. "Getting information out of you isn't my top priority. Perhaps you guessed that already."

I don't have the strength or the breath to respond.

"You see, there isn't much information to learn," he sighs in an almost regretful tone. "It isn't as if Katniss's location is a big secret. We can find her any time we want her. But stealing her away in the dead of night and quietly executing her isn't any fun, is it?" His eyes bore into mine. I just stare dully at him.

He waits, and after a while I realize he doesn't intend to go on without a response from me. I manage to croak, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that _my _job"—he pauses for emphasis—"is to create the ultimate weapon to kill her."

I don't understand. There is too much pain. At least the cool table is starting to feel good on my burns. The pain is fading just a little, or maybe it's just concentrating on certain areas. I realize that only my back and upper legs and arms suffered the treatment. The rest of me feels perfectly fine.

He goes over to his little worktable and calmly sorts through the various horrific-looking instruments neatly laid out. His fingers skim over all manner of needles and knives and other things I can't even identify. Sweat trickles down my forehead. Finally, he settles on a long, thin syringe, which he holds up to inspect closely.

"Do you know what this is, Peeta?" he says softly without looking away from it.

My voice is colder than I've ever heard it, even though it is ragged with exhaustion. "It's a syringe."

His lips twitch. "Yes, but do you know what it _contains?"_

I clench my jaw.

"You've experienced it before," Hanshaw says. "I'm sure you haven't forgotten. One usually doesn't forget what happens to them in the arena."

I don't know what he's talking about. What could be in that syringe that I've experienced before?

And then it hits me a second before he says it.

"It is venom extracted from a tracker jacker."

Of course. What else have I experienced in the arena? Something I'd never forget? I remember the pain, the hallucinations, the fear and confusion. I don't want to relive it.

I swallow and try to retain my brave face. "That's your weapon?" I want to sound scathing, but my voice is weak. "You're going to inject every rebel you see with tracker jacker venom?"

"No, Peeta, that's not the weapon," Hanshaw tells me. His smile chills me to the core. "You are."


	8. Chapter 8

_"Everyone says I [loved you]. Everyone says that's why Snow had you tortured. To break me." ~Katniss, Mockingjay _

I stare at the syringe in his hand and feel a wave of dread sweep through me. "I don't know what you mean," I say in an unsteady voice.

Hanshaw fixes me with his chilling smile and says, "I suppose you've never studied tracker jacker venom, Peeta?"

I don't answer. I can't rip my eyes away from the cloudy liquid he's holding. So many memories are running through my head, like a river flooding its banks.

"No, you've never studied it, but you've experienced it," Hanshaw continues. "So you know, then, that it gives you strong hallucinations, very vivid, until you can barely distinguish between what's real and what isn't. And if you have enough, sometimes separating dream from reality is impossible." He steps closer and I look up and meet his eyes. It's a mistake. His gaze is full of intensity, anticipation, and loathing that I think is directed at the world rather than solely at me.

He doesn't even let me brace myself before he's plunging the syringe into my arm. I feel the venom enter my veins and it's like he has injected me with pure fire. It spreads up my arm and then over my entire body, burning like I'm still on the metal table, burning until I want to scream but I can't.

My vision starts to blur. I'm not sure if the whole world is shaking, or if it's just me. The wall across from me starts to drip blood, and the air is full of tiny stars, swirling dizzyingly around me.

I feel another prick in my arm and my pounding heartbeat slows, my racing mind calms. But I don't fall into unconsciousness, so he can't have sedated me. At least, not all the way.

"Do you remember Katniss Everdeen, Peeta?" Hanshaw's voice asks. It's as if his voice is in my brain, speaking just to me, seeing my every thought and wish and desire.

I feel something hard hit my cheek, jerking my head to the side. For just a second I become alert again, but then I sink back into the sluggish lethargy. "Answer me," his voice hisses.

"I remember," I mumble, my words slurred. Little bubbles are bursting all over my vision. I hear a scream and I jump. But who would be screaming?

"Do you remember everything she's done to you?"

I'm confused. What is he talking about? What has she done to me?

"She deceived you," he murmurs. "She took everything you held dear, and she destroyed it. She turned you in, Peeta. She brought you to us because she wanted to see you tortured."

My thoughts are changing, shifting to match what he's saying. I see an unfamiliar image of Katniss standing over me, face cold and hard, my blood spattered on her clothes, aiming her bow at my heart—

And then the image shifts and we're in a cave and she's looking at me with fear and worry and there's blood all over her but it's not mine, and there are tears in her eyes, and she's saying, "_You're going to be fine, Peeta, don't die, please—"_

"No," I gasp. "She d-didn't turn me in…"

"When she was reaped in the Hunger Games, she told her twelve-year-old sister to take her place," Hanshaw says. Or is it Hanshaw? His voice sounds different, distorted. "And that little girl would have died a terrible death had she agreed to do it. And she almost did—her fear of Katniss was so great. But at the last moment she stepped back and let Katniss go."

My mind is rushing back to the reaping. I see Effie Trinket standing onstage, reading off the little slip of paper. "_Katniss Everdeen," _she says, looking expectantly out at the crowd. Everyone moves away leaving a space where Katniss stands alone, staring at little Prim, who looks terrified and tearful, who is about to volunteer but at the last second changes her mind—

I see the hatred on Katniss's face as she finally mounts the stairs to the stage, the dark glare she fixes on her sister, the glare that says, _You betrayed me, and you will pay for that. _

Wait…no…that isn't what happened… Prim's name was chosen, and Katniss volunteered… She saved her sister's life…

I give an agonized cry, because the confusion is killing me, my brain is struggling to make sense of the double scenes I'm seeing, the universes where everything is different. Which one is real?

"No!" I cry. "No, that didn't happen, it didn't—"

"She tried to kill you while you were at the Capitol," he says, ignoring my words. "You weren't even in the Games yet, and she tried to kill you. Do you remember when you spoke on the rooftop of the Training Center, Peeta? That was when she admitted to you that she killed your father, your siblings, she killed them and robbed them of everything they had, and she was glad she'd done it. And if you hadn't been reaped, you would be next."

What he says doesn't make sense, it can't be true, but suddenly I'm back on the rooftop with Katniss, and her expression is hateful and angry again, and she's saying, "_They didn't deserve to live. My family needed food and clothing, so I took it from yours. You should have seen the fear on their faces when they died." _

And anguish and horror fills me, and I can feel my body jerking, twisting away from my restraints, but I'm stuck here, seeing all of this, hearing it, believing it.

"It isn't true!" I shout, desperately trying to remember that this is because of the venom, it will go away soon, it can't last forever. "She wouldn't!"

"And after she told you," the voice says, "she lunged at you and wrapped her hands around your throat and if not for the Peacekeepers that found you just in time, you would be dead right now, Peeta."

"No," I whisper, trying to force myself not to see what he's saying, but it comes anyway. The crazed ferocity on her face, the way she grabs my neck and presses, trying to crush my windpipe, doing everything in her power to kill me, and the Games haven't even begun.

Then she bends down and whispers in my ear, "_But Peeta, don't you see? The Games started the moment they called our names." _

And then the scene shifts but only for a moment, and now it's of her staring at me with the blank expression she used to regard me with before we knew each other, but there's a trace of sadness in her eyes, a trace of admiration, and I'm telling her that I don't want them to change me, own me, I don't want to be a piece in their Games, and she is listening to every word I say…

But then my mind turns back to the prior scene, where she's strangling the life out of me.

Which is real?

"She tried to sabotage your training scores," the voice hisses. I don't remember who's talking. All that exists in the world are these visions, these words, these false and true realities that seem one and the same to me. "She snuck in and attempted to change the record, but she was caught."

No. No. She can't have done that. It's not true. It can't be.

"When the Games began, the first person she went for was you. She threw you to the ground and if you had not overpowered her, she would have plunged a knife through your heart."

My head reels. There she is, pinning me to the ground, my own hand holding her wrist at bay as she tries to force her dagger toward me, face contorted with rage and bloodlust. I throw her off and scramble to my feet and the vision goes white.

And then another reality emerges, and she's looking at me and I'm shaking my head at her. _Don't go for the Cornucopia. _Then the gong sounds and we're all running, and I look over and see her snatch a bag from another boy, who falls to the ground dead, and I see a knife lodge in the sack and then she's running for the trees without another glance back at me.

Did she attack? Or did she run?

"And then," he whispers, "she joined the Careers. She hunted you down because she wanted to kill you. She dropped a nest of deadly tracker jackers on your head. It seemed like an appropriately painful way to make you go."

A shudder goes through me, perhaps at the mention of tracker jackers. I see Katniss with Cato and Clove and Glimmer and the others. I see her climbing a tree and sawing a nest loose from a branch, where it plummets down on me. I remember the hallucinations, stumbling drunkenly into the forest, trying desperately to get away from her.

No… _I _was with the Careers…wasn't I? To keep her safe? And she dropped the nest on us not out of spite, but to keep herself alive. And then I told her to run.

Is that what happened? Was I protecting her? Or was I running from her?

And then, slowly, all of the images run out of my mind like they're being sucked down a drain. The vivid, pulsing colors and bizarre shapes leave my vision. I feel myself blacking out, still full of fear, confusion, and dismay.

But just before I pass out, my mind tells me, _I love Katniss Everdeen, _and that is enough.


	9. Chapter 9

They have to help me back to my room. I stumble every other step, too weak to really hold myself up. I feel numb, hollowed out, as if I've given up the will to feel anything at all. My mind is cold and blank. There is nothing to think now. All I can do is try to block the memories that are pushing just below the surface.

The Peacekeepers push me into my room. They don't do it roughly, but still I fall to my knees. I stay on the floor and listen as they shut the door behind me and lock it. A small voice in my head tells me to get up and go to the bed. But my body doesn't listen.

I kneel there, braced on my hands and knees, my breath coming in shallow gasps. I screw my eyes shut tight because the memories are coming again. I don't want them.

Please don't let them come.

But they do anyway. Memories of what I just went through. Memories of the things Hanshaw put into my brain. I don't know why he did it. I don't know what the point of it is. Perhaps he thinks it is the most effective form of torture. Perhaps he thinks it will make me talk.

But they don't really want information from me, do they? No, Hanshaw already told me what he wants from me, what they all want from me.

To be their weapon. To be the one that kills the Mockingjay.

A sound escapes me, a low moan deep in my throat, because the numbness is melting away, leaving plenty of room for fear and despair to creep in. I tell myself that I have nothing to worry about. I will never hurt Katniss. She is one of the most precious things to me in the world, the only reason I can withstand this horrible place. I am no danger to her.

Am I?

Days and days have passed. I have stayed in my room with nothing but the memories, both real and false, playing over and over again in my mind. I haven't been taken to Hanshaw again. I know I should feel relieved, but there is no room for relief inside of me anymore. Only despair.

The door unlocks and an Avox walks in, the same one that comes every day to bring me my meals. But I can't eat. It makes my stomach cramp just thinking about it. But he leaves the tray morning, noon, and night, and an hour later he comes to retrieve it again. He never looks at me. I wonder if he's disgusted with me for doing that interview with Caesar, for encouraging that cease-fire. I'm disgusted with myself, so it wouldn't surprise me.

The Avox walks silently over to the corner and begins cleaning the fragments of a vase I flung across the room this morning in a sudden surge of rage. I feel bad about it now, but I just watch him clean. It felt so good to break something that belonged to the Capitol. But I know that they can fix it easily. No matter how many things I try to break, it won't make a difference.

The door opens and the Avox and I look over automatically. Two Peacekeepers have entered the room, glancing suspiciously at the mess the Avox is cleaning. Then they turn to me.

"You're wanted for another interview," one of them grunts, and my stomach drops.

"I don't think I'm up to it," I say. My voice is extremely hoarse from lack of use.

The Peacekeeper's face hardens, and he strides over to me and grabs my arm. He pulls me to my feet; I have to stumble to catch myself. "You don't really have a choice," he says. The other Peacekeeper takes his position on my other side and they escort me from the room. I look back at the Avox; he watches me go with sad eyes.

The Peacekeepers take me to a room where my prep team waits. They lack their usual bubbly excitement, and they work silently on me, avoiding my eyes. It seems that no one can look me in the eye these days.

I glimpse myself in the mirror. There are deep circles and lines under my eyes; I haven't been able to sleep for days. My face looks gaunt and my skin pale. My eyes are dull, exhausted. I clench my shaking hands into fists and press them together.

The prep team works over me as they always have, dabbing makeup, carefully picking out my clothes. Portia is not here. I wonder bleakly if the Capitol people are keeping her from me.

Or maybe she's already dead.

My Peacekeeper guards walk in, and one of them announces, "Mr. Syke to see you," and the Capitol man walks in, the one who told me to call for a cease-fire. I give him the coldest look I can.

"Hello, Peeta," says Mr. Syke in his cool voice, meeting my eyes steadily. "You're looking well." I don't miss the trace of a smile on his lips at his own little joke.

"I know what you'll say," I tell him coldly. "You want me to talk about stopping the war again."

Mr. Syke crosses his arms over his chest and gives me a condescending look. "It seems that your efforts last time did nothing to stop this pointless war," he says, and I almost laugh, almost, because how can he call this war pointless, a war that is finally rising up to stop the slaughter of twenty-four children each year? "We are going to need a little more from you."

"They won't stop because of me," I snap. "They don't care what I have to say. The rebels won't stop."

I see Mr. Syke stiffen and for a moment fury flashes in his eyes before he composes himself. "You don't look at yourself in the way that others do, Peeta," he says. "You are greatly respected among the citizens of Panem. If you were convincing enough, I think you could change a lot of minds."

"What if I don't want to?" The words come out before I can let myself think about them.

Mr. Syke narrows his eyes at me. "That would end badly," he replies. "For you…and for her."

I stare him down for a moment, hating him as much as Hanshaw, because he hurts me in a different way. He thinks he owns me. He thinks he can control me.

He's wrong.

But I can't stand up to him now. All I will get is another beating, more torture, and they will take out their fury on her in any way they can. Or on the rebels. Either way, it will be my fault.

So for now, I will cooperate.

Mr. Syke must see the change in my face, because he looks satisfied. "Good," he says. "I want you to talk this time as if speaking directly to Katniss. If there is anyone that can change her mind about this war, it's you."

I glance at my reflection in the mirror again, hating that she will see me like this, so weak and shaken. But I don't really have a choice.

"Fine," I say coldly.

"I'm glad that's settled." And without another word, he turns and strides out of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You're finished, Peeta," one of my prep team says quietly, and my stomach contracts as I wonder if she's merely talking about my prep work, or if she means me in general.

The Peacekeepers take me to the auditorium. Caesar Flickerman is backstage, talking to Mr. Syke. It looks like they're arguing. Caesar keeps gesturing with his hands with an angry look on his face. Mr. Syke just stares at him coolly and waits for him to finish. Then he looks over and catches me watching.

"All right, Caesar, almost time to go on," he says loudly, cutting off whatever Caesar was in the middle of saying. For a moment Caesar's powdered face reddens, and then he looks over and notices me, too, and then he sighs and turns to his hovering prep team who are still fussing over his hair. He doesn't greet me.

I can hear the audience waiting for us, as big as last time, perhaps bigger. I wonder bitterly if they'll notice any change in me, if they'll even care. I doubt I'll be able to concentrate on the interview anyway. My thoughts are still crammed with false memories. I can't stop thinking about the things Hanshaw made me see. I can't help fearing what he will force me to see next.

"You're on, Caesar," someone murmurs, and for a moment Caesar frowns up at the ceiling. Then he slaps on a bright smile and strides out from behind the curtain to wild applause. He blows kisses to the crowd before taking his seat.

"We have a guest with us today!" Caesar cries, gesturing to where I'm standing backstage. "Peeta Mellark!"

The crowd goes wild. I stay where I am, wondering what would happen if I ran out there and screamed the truth, that they are all fools, that if this war doesn't happen, the districts are done for.

But then someone whispers urgently from behind me, "Go, Peeta!" and I find myself walking onstage, into the blinding stage lights, and the audience is screaming and standing up and waving at me. I stare blankly at them and then sit down in my seat and stare at Caesar.

The cameraman gets into position. I stare at the camera, suddenly dreading what I will have to say. I don't want her to hear it. I don't want her to think of me as a coward.

But I have to.

The red light flicks on and Caesar smiles winningly at the camera. "Today we're here with Peeta Mellark! How are you, Peeta?"

My hands are trembling violently. I shift on my chair and close my eyes in a brief wince as pain ignites from the burns on my skin. I try to smile normally at Caesar, but my act is weak.

"I'm great, Caesar," I say. "Never better."

"I'm glad to hear it." He pats my hand kindly, but when he looks at me his eyes are dark and serious.

We chatter casually back and forth, trying to get the flow of normality going, but he must sense that I can't stand to stay on stage for much longer. I'm exhausted and in pain and hating every minute of this. So he cuts to the chase.

"So there are some rumors going around that Katniss Everdeen has been filming propos for the districts," says Caesar.

This is news to me, but I don't let that show. I hide the flicker of pride that I feel; she is fighting for this war as fiercely as the Capitol is fighting against it. I knew she could lead the districts.

But I can't say any of that, so I say, "They're using her, obviously. To whip up the rebels. I doubt she even knows what's really going on in the war. What's at stake."

"Is there anything you'd like to tell her?"

"There is." I look at the camera, imagine that I'm staring straight at her and she's looking back, horrified at what I'm saying, wondering what's happened to turn me against her. I just hope that she understands that it's out of my hands.

I say steadily, "Don't be a fool, Katniss. Think for yourself. They've turned you into a weapon that could be instrumental in the destruction of all humanity. If you've got any real influence, use it to put the brakes on this thing. Use it to stop the war before it's too late. Ask yourself, do you really trust the people you're working with? Do you really know what's going on? And if you don't…find out."

Then the red light from the camera flicks off, and I sag in my chair, a wave of bitterness sweeping over me. Haymitch always said I was good with words. I never thought I would be using them like this.

_I'm sorry. _


	10. Chapter 10

I feel like I'm in a daze as they lead me offstage. I barely notice when Caesar clasps my hand in his and looks me seriously in the eye, saying, "Take care of yourself, Peeta." My eyes glance over Mr. Syke as he watches me from the shadows, a slight smile on his face. All I can think of is what I said, what she will think when she hears it, if she thinks I have betrayed her.

Because this is what she stands for now, isn't it? She's the Mockingjay. She is the face of the rebellion. And here I am, telling her to stop, acting like I'm against her. And my measly attempts at keeping her safe, at trying to make it seem like she doesn't know what she's doing, they aren't helping anything. President Snow isn't an idiot. Neither is Mr. Syke, or anyone else that I'm struggling to convince.

I don't even feel relieved when I'm taken back to my room rather than to Dr. Hanshaw's office. Once the door closes behind me, I wander over to the bed and sit on the edge, staring unseeingly at the floor, the pain in my shoulder and my burns hidden behind my roiling thoughts.

Will she ever forgive me for this?

Days pass, and nothing happens. I wonder if there are fights breaking out, if the Capitol people are too busy trying to control the rebellion to worry about me. No one brings me any news. I sit in my room, with nothing to do but wait.

Finally, about midmorning—I have lost all sense of what day it is—the door to my room unlocks and one Peacekeeper walks in. He looks tired and strained; perhaps this means that the rebels are stirring up trouble after all. They are short-staffed enough that they can only send me one escort.

"Time to go," he says to me. I stare at him without moving. He waits for a few seconds, until it becomes clear that I have no intention of obeying. His face hardens.

The Peacekeeper strides toward me, and I glimpse the gun in his belt. He grabs me by the arm, the one that Hanshaw stretched, and I grit my teeth against a hiss of pain. "Didn't you hear me?" he says roughly, constricting his fingers so that a sharp twinge of pain grips my shoulder. "I said it's time to go."

I look at his hand for a second, clutching my arm, and then I look up and meet his eyes. "Get out," I say.

He looks like I've caught him off guard. I've never put up a fight before when they've come to take me away. But now, is there really any point in trying to preserve my own life? Even if I go down under the thumb of the Capitol, I will go down with my head high. That is a promise to myself.

"Excuse me?" His voice is dangerous.

"Didn't you hear me?" I say as calmly as I can, echoing his words from before. "I said get out."

He clenches his jaw angrily. "You have an appointment with Dr. Hanshaw," he growls. "If you don't cooperate, I will be forced to take violent measures to get you where you need to be."

There's that word again. People always want me to cooperate here. And what has it earned me so far? Pain, torture, and forcing me to betray the people that I love.

I don't take my eyes off his. I challenge him with my silence.

He loses patience. "Get up," he snarls, and he yanks me to my feet.

I seize my chance.

I twist out of his grip, ignoring the spasm of pain the movement causes for my shoulder, and I lunge for the gun at his belt. He yells in shock as I shove him as hard as I can, elbowing him in the side. He stumbles, off balance, and I get a grip on the weapon and point it at him, breathing hard.

He looks at me like I'm a foreign species. "What are you doing?" he splutters, eyes on the gun.

"Put your hands where I can see them," I say.

Slowly, as if he can't quite believe this is happening, he raises his hands into the air.

We stand like that for I don't know how long, me pointing the gun at him, him waiting for me to make my next move.

After a while, he cracks a small smile.

"Are you really going to shoot me, Peeta?" he rasps. "Is that your master plan? You going to shoot me and run?"

"I've been through two Hunger Games," I answer calmly. "Don't think I'm afraid to kill you." But my fingers hover over the trigger, and I can't seem to make them do what I want.

His smile slips. "What do you want from me?"

I haven't actually thought about that. My mind starts to work. Do I want him to get me out of here? He'll never do it. He'll sound the alarm the first chance he gets, or jump on me to wrestle my weapon away. I'm not exactly in top physical condition right now; I can't fend him off. I could always shoot him now and make a break for it, but the noise would bring everyone in the building running.

"Take me to Hanshaw," I hear myself say, and a look of surprise flickers across his face.

"That's where I've been trying to get you all along." A rusty laugh escapes him, though it sounds unsteady, and he keeps looking at the gun. He knows I'll fire if he makes a wrong move. "No need to point guns to go there."

"I'm going to kill him," I say coldly, and his eyes widen.

"I can't let you do that."

"I don't really think you have a choice." I think of Katniss, what she might do in this situation. Would she fire this gun right now and go find Hanshaw by herself?

_Katniss isn't the one trapped in here, _a voice whispers in my head. _This is your choice. _

"Take me or I shoot," I say.

He looks at me for another long moment, so long that I wonder if he's decided he's going to let me kill him after all, but then he grunts, "Fine."

I go slowly toward him and get up behind him, keeping the gun pointed at his back. He walks ahead of me, keeping his hands out, and we walk out the door.

"Wait," I say sharply, and I glance down the hallway to make sure no one is there to see our situation. But the corridor is deserted, so I prod him with the barrel of the gun, making him jump slightly. He walks again.

I know where Hanshaw's lab is from here. I don't need him to guide me. But I can't leave him alone in my room. He'll run for help first chance he gets. Yet I can't bring myself to shoot him in cold blood either. The very thought of it transports me back to the Games, all of that needless killing, and I can't do it.

So now this Peacekeeper, who has escorted me nearly everywhere and whose name I don't even know, is my guide.

We don't meet anyone on the way to Hanshaw's office, which tells me that there are indeed things that need controlling out in the districts. My stomach clenches as I wonder if Katniss is out there fighting, if she's maybe dead already. Would someone have told me if she were? I doubt it.

But Hanshaw will tell me now, I realize. Even if it means it's his last words spoken on this earth, he will use them to torment me with the news that she's gone.

"Open the door," I tell the Peacekeeper, and now I'm relieved that I brought him, because he has the keys. He unhooks the key ring from his belt, under close watch from me to make sure he doesn't go for a hidden weapon. He jams the key in the door and unlocks it, stepping back to let me go in.

"You first," I say in a hard voice, and he hesitantly walks into the cold, blank room where I have met some of the worst horrors of my life.

Hanshaw is there, fiddling with more of his torture trinkets, as usual. He looks up when we enter, unsurprised to see us. Then his eyes zero in on the gun I'm carrying and narrow.

"Would you look at that," he says, sounding as if he's commenting on something as trivial as the weather. "Actually fighting back for once, are we, Peeta?"

I just stare at him, wondering if he can see all the hatred I feel for him in my face.

That's when the Peacekeeper makes a break for it. His hand darts toward his belt and he removes a little device—he can call for backup through it. I get to him faster, though. I grab his arm, shove him against the wall, and then I hit him over the head with the back of the gun, with more force than was probably necessary.

His head jerks and then he slumps to the ground, unconscious.

I stare down at him, breathing heavily, and then I look up at Hanshaw. And point the gun at him.

And he's _still _smiling.

"So you've come to kill me," he says, tipping his head to one side and studying me. "I have to say, Peeta, I thought you'd given up long ago."

"You don't deserve to live," I spit at him. "You aren't human."

Hanshaw chuckles. "You would be surprised how many times I've heard that before."

"I doubt that."

"Well then." He spreads his arms and looks at me expectantly. "Go ahead, Peeta. Shoot."

I look at him, confused. Is it really going to be that easy? He's just going to let me kill him?

But no, nothing is ever that easy.

He knows I'll never get away with it. If I kill him now, I'll blow my cover, and every Peacekeeper in the area will swarm here and drag me back to my room, unless they kill me on the spot.

But would it be worth it to take the life of this monster?

"I can tell just what you're thinking, Peeta," he purrs. "Surely you've killed enough in the Games, haven't you? Surely you've seen enough death to be desensitized to it? But it's a little harder than you thought it would be to pull that trigger." He takes a step closer. I tense my arms and aim the gun right at his heart.

"I will feel no regret when I watch you bleed your life out onto this floor." I barely recognize my own voice. There is a burning feeling deep inside of me, and I don't know whether it's from fear or hate or fury, but I know that when the time comes, I'll be able to use that fire to put an end to this man.

If I can even call him a man.

He still smiles at me. How can he smile into his death?

"You think you can kill me and then escape," he says softly. "It's not nearly that simple, Peeta. We are not finished with you, you see. You have a very important job."

"I won't be your weapon," I say. "I won't hurt her. No matter what you do to me, I will never hurt her."

Hanshaw walks closer, pacing toward me casually with his hands behind his back, like he's strolling through town. "You don't know what I can do to you," he says, sounding amused.

His words send a small shiver through me, but I hold the gun steady. I let him walk closer, because what can he do now but stall the inevitable?

He stops with just a foot between himself and the barrel of the gun. He stares at it for a moment, and it infuriates me that he doesn't look at it like it's a threat, like _I'm _a threat. It means nothing to him.

"Evil things like you can't survive in this world," I tell him.

"You know what they say, Peeta," he says lightly. "Evil thrives in an evil world."

And then his arm shoots out from behind his back, and the syringe plunges into my arm, and I realize my mistake. I pull the trigger, and a deafening bang fills the room, and I hear Hanshaw scream. Then I fold to the ground, unable to withstand whatever he injected into my body, and it all goes black.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **_Thanks for reading and reviewing, guys! Llamas for everyone!_

I fade in and out of consciousness. Weird things go through my head—some of them I know are dreams, especially the ones where Katniss is with me, kneeling on the floor beside me, holding my hand. But some of the others have to be real.

People are shouting. One angry voice rises above it all, cursing and screaming and I hear people trying to calm the person down. There's a crashing noise, like something heavy tipped over. I fall back into sleep again and come halfway out a little later, or maybe it's a lot later, I can't tell.

Hands are touching me, I'm floating through the air, I feel something hard pressed against my back, cold things wrapping around my wrists and ankles. There is a stinging pain in my arm. I don't remember why it's there. My thoughts are blurs. I can't even concentrate on what the voices are saying around me.

I go away again and when I come back, I feel more alert. There are still voices, though they're quieter now, calmer, murmuring around me.

"You're sure he tried to kill him?" The voice is filled with unease. "That doesn't sound like something Peeta Mellark would do."

"Peeta Mellark has been through two Hunger Games," another voice points out. "I don't think we get to underestimate him."

"Think about what that man has put him through," a third voice mutters. "If I were in Peeta's place, I would want to kill him, too."

And then to my disbelief, the three of them laugh.

I wrench my eyes open and wait for my vision to stop spinning around. I'm lying on my back on a cold metal table. I'm transported to when I first got here, when the Capitol people bent over me and studied me. And when Hanshaw strapped me to the table and set a fire underneath it.

I turn my head, and the movement hurts. I see the people that must have been talking, huddled together near the door. They're wearing lab coats so they must be here to study me, or check up on me, but they're really not paying me much attention at all.

I watch them for a while, unable to draw the strength to do anything else. They keep whispering together, sometimes chuckling, sometimes sighing in exasperation. I try to lift my hand to my face, to make sure that I'm really here, but it's held captive beneath a metal band, welded to the table.

I clear my throat and they whirl around, looking alarmed and surprised.

"You're awake, Peeta," says one woman, and I can't believe that she actually thinks she has to tell me that I'm awake.

"We'd better do some tests." She takes a clipboard from the counter beside her, pauses, and murmurs something to the white-coated man beside her. I don't think I'm meant to hear it, but I do anyway: "Go and get Mr. Syke and tell him the patient's awake."

The patient. That's what I am now. I'm not their prisoner, I'm their poor, weak patient. I don't have the strength to get angry, but there is a dull smoldering inside of me, the echo of the fire that burned when I pointed the gun at Hanshaw.

_Hanshaw. _I think back to my last few moments of consciousness. I fired the gun as I went down. I remember hearing him scream. Did I shoot him? Did I _kill _him?

"Where's Hanshaw?" I demand, and the woman scanning the clipboard flinches.

"Dr. Hanshaw is otherwise engaged," she says carefully.

That doesn't sound exactly like "He's in the morgue," but I still have hope. "Did I shoot him?" I rasp, and she lowers her clipboard and looks at me in disbelief, like she can't believe I would ask something so horrible.

The other man that remains in the room clears his throat and says in an irritatingly superior tone, "Yes, Peeta. You shot him." He fixes me with a look that's probably meant to be stern.

My heart starts to pound. "Is he dead?"

They exchange a look and don't answer.

"I don't want to talk to Mr. Syke," I say after a few moments of silence.

"He wants to talk to you, so you don't have a choice," the man says.

"I won't tell him anything."

The man walks up to my table and gives me a hard look. "You're in no position to keep quiet, Peeta," he growls. "You assaulted a Peacekeeper and tried to kill one of our top scientists."

"I'm sure you can get another man to torture your prisoners," I spit out, and his face turns red with rage and the veins in his forehead bulge out.

The woman nudges him away, looking apprehensive. "I'll take it from here," she mutters to him, and he storms to the other side of the room and violently flips through a stack of papers, ripping a few and cursing.

The door opens and in walks Mr. Syke, as composed as ever, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Peeta," he says, and he looks at me with a mixture of disdain and pity, a look that I hate. "I hear you had a little mishap yesterday."

Yesterday? I was out for an entire day?

"Would you like to tell me why you stole a Peacekeeper's weapon and used it to attack Dr. Hanshaw?" Mr. Syke asks.

"No."

"Are you sure about that?" He steps closer. "If I were you, I would tell me, Peeta, or else I'll be forced to send you to someone else."

I blink slowly at him, because I know he means he'll send me to some torturer. "First tell me if Hanshaw is alive," I say flatly.

I see him clench his jaw. "Dr. Hanshaw will be just fine," he says curtly.

Disappointment and strange relief mingle inside of me. I want him to be dead. I hate the idea of him living. And yet I hate the idea of me killing him. The odd, hateful fire that possessed me when I took the Peacekeeper's gun and stormed into Hanshaw's office, ready to murder him, is gone now. I don't want to be responsible for his death.

But I do want him dead, nevertheless.

"Are you going to tell me what exactly went on yesterday?" presses Syke.

I stare at him and press my lips together in answer.

He sighs and straightens, a dark look in his eye. "Fine. Hopefully someone else will be able to get some more answers out of you."

"I'm not going to Hanshaw."

"Of course not," he says condescendingly. He smiles at me, and it reminds me of Hanshaw's unwavering smile. I look away from it. "You're going to see President Snow."

My gaze darts back to him again as shock and dread fills me. I know how terrified Katniss is of President Snow. She's had nightmares about him. He has threatened her family, he has threatened me, and he has sent us both into the Hunger Games _twice. _He hasn't been taking me into his office to torture me, and yet I hate him as much as I hate Hanshaw.

"Now?" I say, trying not to look as dismayed as I feel.

Syke looks me over. "You look alert enough to stand," he says. "I think you can make the journey to his office." He sticks his head out the door and says something, and when he returns he's followed by three Peacekeepers.

"Try overpowering the four of us," Mr. Syke says with a smug smile. "It won't be as easy as it was the first time."

"What happened to that Peacekeeper I knocked out?" I ask, unable to help myself.

Mr. Syke stops smiling. "He was let go," he says carelessly. I wonder if that means he was fired…or killed.

The woman scientist presses a button and my bindings release me. I sit up, rubbing my sore wrists, and the Peacekeepers surround me at once like they're expecting me to lunge at someone and start beating them bloody. I stand up slowly, taking my time, and let them escort me out of the room.

I keep my face stony as we walk down the halls. We don't say anything; even Mr. Syke remains silent, though the triumphant look on his face is just as bad as any gloating words he could say. I wonder what would happen if I pulled another stunt like yesterday, if I grabbed a gun from a Peacekeeper's belt and shot Snow right in the heart.

Would it end if I did that? Would the rebellion end? Would the _Games _end?

I know I won't have the opportunity. But it gives me savage pleasure to imagine it. Even though I know I couldn't do it, not even if I had the chance.

Could I?

We get into an elevator and climb up and up until we're on one of the top floors and then Mr. Syke takes the lead and strides confidently down a fancy hallway with marble columns and stops at an ornately carved door.

He knocks and the door swings open.

The Peacekeepers usher me inside and there he is, President Snow, sitting comfortably in a scarlet armchair and waiting for me with a calm expression on his face. He has a rose in his jacket lapel, I notice. The sight of it unnerves me.

"Hello, Peeta," he says, smiling. He gestures to the chair that has been positioned in front of him. "Do sit."

I wonder what would happen if I refused. But his eyes are boring into me, and the Peacekeepers and Mr. Syke are watching, so I slowly lower myself into the chair.

I wait for him to start asking me about what happened yesterday. I wait for him to tell me that I'll be executed, or tortured, or something even worse. I'm braced for his anger. But it doesn't come.

Instead, he says, "Katniss Everdeen would do much for you, boy."

For a moment, I can't find anything to say. Then I manage, "I'm only one person."

He nods thoughtfully. "But to her, you are worth many people," he muses. "An army, perhaps." His eyes glint and my stomach drops.

I try to sound certain of myself. "She would never give up the lives of other people for me."

"But she does agonize over you, Peeta. Oh, yes she does. I can't help but wonder what would happen to all of her determination if you were…taken out of the picture, as it were." He continues to watch me, catching my every reaction. I try to keep my face smooth.

"You're going to kill me," I say flatly.

"Of course not, Peeta. How absurd. You don't need to be dead to be taken out of her life."

"You're going to keep me here forever?" The thought is even worse than the idea of death.

"Oh, no, I assume you'll be back with those cunning rebels sooner rather than later," he says. "But you won't be quite the man she remembers."

I clutch the armrests of my chair. "Hanshaw told me that you're turning me into a weapon," I say, a slight tremor in my voice. "You want me to kill Katniss."

He looks at me for a long time, his head tipped to one side. "I can see it in your face," he says softly. "You don't believe that you'll ever be able to hurt the girl you love." I flinch when he says it, because I don't want this monster talking about who I love. "But we are very resourceful here in the Capitol you'll find, Peeta," he continues. "We have ways of getting what we want, no matter how impossible they seem."

Snow smiles at me, a chilling smile. "We are running out of time, I'm afraid," he says, his voice regretful but his eyes glittering with malice. "I've already passed along the message to Hanshaw. The process must be sped up. We'll be having a television special broadcast to all of Panem, and you will be there to tell Katniss to call off this rebellion once and for all."

"If she hasn't listened before, what makes you think she'll listen this time?" I say harshly.

He leans forward, bracing his hands on his knees. "Oh, I'm sure seeing you will convince her," he says, and a shiver runs through me. He looks at me quietly for a moment, and then he says, "Tell me, Peeta, what do you remember of your Katniss? I wouldn't be surprised if your memories of her were a little jumbled."

I stare at a point past his shoulder, hating him, because he knows the false memories Hanshaw put in my head. I keep my voice stony but cold fear is spreading through me, because those memories aren't the end of it. They'll keep coming, and who knows when they will finally break me, and I will forget her?

"Don't hurt her," I say, hating the pleading note in my voice. "She doesn't know—"

"What she's doing?" he finishes. "I daresay she knows exactly what she's doing, Peeta. And don't worry, I won't hurt a hair on her head." He looks at me with amusement gleaming in his eyes. "I'll leave that part to you."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Just a little warning, this is another venom-torture scene with Peeta and Hanshaw. A little dark and disturbing.**

There's a little part of me that's been hoping that Hanshaw will be too frightened of me to want to be in the same room with me now. That maybe he won't want to torture me anymore. I know someone will do it, that it'll happen whether Hanshaw wants to or not, but I know that anyone, anyone in the world, would be better than him.

But my hopes are dashed when the Peacekeepers—twice as many as before—escort me to Hanshaw's lab, and there he is, and his arm is in a sling and covered with bandages, and when he looks at me he isn't smiling.

Not at all.

I'm not relieved to see the absence of his smile, because the cold way he looks at me now tells me that he's done playing games. At least he takes me more seriously now, at least he knows that I'm not as weak as he thought I was, but there isn't much comfort in it. Because now he will break down on me, and he will hit me with everything he's got, because that's his job. And now it's personal too, because I shot him, and he's wearing the sling to prove it.

I should be quiet. I should sit here and act like they've cut out my tongue, and I should let him do what he has to. I should not provoke him.

But I hate him, I hate him so much, so I provoke him anyway.

"Those bandages are just for show, aren't they?" I say. "The Capitol medicine could fix you up, good as new, if you wanted. Maybe they have, and you're faking it."

His cold eyes go even colder and he leans down so that his face is level with mine as I sit in the chair with my wrists and ankles bound to the arms and legs of it. "Peeta," he says softly, and the way he says my name sends chills down my spine, "I will make your life a living hell."

"You already have," I say back.

He straightens up, steps back. There are two Peacekeepers in the room with us at all times, heavily armed, ready to blow my brains out if I ever make another move to kill Hanshaw. I don't like them here. I don't want them to watch me suffer. Shouldn't my torture be private?

It's like Hanshaw can read my mind, because he says, "I'm sorry that the Peacekeepers are here, Peeta, though they are quite necessary. You lost your privacy when you tried to kill me."

And he still isn't smiling, and somehow that is even worse than if he was.

He doesn't go for the table that heats up like an oven, or the device that nearly snapped my arm, or anything else that looks like it has potential to hurt me physically.

No, he goes straight for the syringe.

And fear creeps through my veins like ice.

"Sweet dreams," he says, and he puts the needle to my arm, lets the point rest on the surface for a moment, before sinking it into my skin.

The venom runs through my body like fire and then, like last time, the room starts to shift and morph and colors bloom in front of my eyes. It feels like my chair is tipping sideways.

"Close your eyes," a disembodied voice says from somewhere. I try to turn my head to see where it comes from but I can't. My head feels like it's made from rock. Something hits me across the face, and the pain is real, and the voice repeats more insistently, _"Close your eyes." _

My thoughts pulse with confusion, but I obey. I close my eyes and the voice whispers in my ear, filling my whole head until I can concentrate on nothing else.

"Katniss killed that little girl. What was her name? Ah, Rue, wasn't it? She found her and Rue begged her for mercy, but Katniss killed her in cold blood and then she _smiled_, Peeta. She looked at the body of a little girl whose life she herself had stolen, and she smiled."

There she is before my closed eyelids, crouching over Rue's body, smiling, proud that she did it, that she got to take this life with her own two hands—

No, there she is again, crying over Rue's body, which is wreathed in flowers, singing to her, destroyed over the death of this beautiful little girl…

"Do you remember the first Games you went in, Peeta? Do you remember when the rules changed halfway through, and two tributes of the same district could win together?"

Yes, I want to say, but I can't find my voice, it has run away from me…

"Katniss hunted you down after that announcement, and she tried to kill you anyway," the voice hisses.

I remember lying in the mud, camouflaged, waiting to die, and then she looms over me, and she lifts her bow and arrow and looks at me with dead eyes—

"No," I manage to get out, my voice barely a breath of air.

"No, Peeta? You say you don't remember that? What about when you and she were the only ones left? What about when you could have won together, but she threw you to the ground and tried to murder you anyway? You were done with the Games. You could have been free. But she tried to end it. She did not want anyone else to win. She did not want to share the victory."

We're standing by the Cornucopia, she is trying to wrestle me to the ground, my leg hurts and I'm bleeding my life out of it, I can't fight her off for long. But she doesn't kill me, because I'm here, alive and suffering with this horrible confusion.

No—no, that's all wrong. I can see her, though the memory is fuzzy and indistinct, I see her throw her bow to the side, take out a handful of berries, offer them to me. _"Trust me," _she whispers. I bend down and kiss her. We raise the berries to our lips—

"The hovercraft came just in time to rescue you from her," the voice says, shattering the memory I was clawing to keep with me.

I see hands pulling her away as she screams and flails, her eyes full of hatred and the need to kill me.

Then I see, still unclear, her banging on a window separating us, screaming my name in anguish as Capitol people work to save my life, needing me to protect her.

"Katniss!" I cry, my voice breaking.

"She has always wanted you dead. She took everything from you, Peeta. In the second Games, she planned that you would die. You tried to kill her, because you hate her so desperately, as much as she hates you, and you have sworn to kill each other. She tried to blow you up, Peeta, along with the entire arena and every tribute in it. She gave you up to the Capitol. She led you to this moment, where you are now. It's her fault that you are here. All Katniss Everdeen's fault."

A weird sound is coming out of my mouth but I barely hear it. I think of her in the Quarter Quell, and my memories are twisting and flashing back and forth. First there she is, crying as she tries to resuscitate me after the barrier stopped my heart. Then she is shoving me down, hitting me over the head, shooting her arrow into the electric field above me, and explosions are everywhere. She runs away from me while I scream her name, and there is something inside of me, something unhinged and full of rage and hate and I want her to come back so that I can drive my knife through her heart.

_NO!_ My memory flickers back and she is running through the arena screaming my name, "_Peeta!_" and I scream hers too, and we run toward each other, desperate to reach each other, and I don't know how much longer we'll be alive but I want to spend my last moments with her. But I can't find her, I can't run fast enough.

Then the hovercraft comes—

And Katniss breaks out of the trees.

_Does she? _

And she runs at me and throws me to the ground. She holds a knife against my throat, whispers in my ear in a voice that is not right, _"I could kill you now, but that would be too merciful. I'll let them have you." _

The hovercraft descends toward me and she leaps away and bounds into the forest, and oh how I hate her, I hate the sight of her face, I want her to die, die, die—

"NO!" I scream, wrenching my eyes open, shaking all over, pain searing through every inch of me as the venom takes its course. The world trembles around me and the voice is deafening in my head, telling me lies, or maybe they're truths? And in my head I see her face, flickering between the face of hers that I hate and the face that I love so quickly I can't keep track.

Blackness crowds in on my vision and my eyes fall closed again, and all I can remember is how she pinned me down, how she kept me from escaping, how she is the reason that I am here now, in this pain, in this torment.

It is all Katniss Everdeen's fault.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Argh! It has been brought to my attention that I've been leaving out a few important plot parts. Thanks so much for reminding me! I will be putting the missing parts in, though they might not be in the correct order as in the book. I should probably get around to rereading Mockingjay eh?**

When I'm taken back to my room, I collapse onto my bed and sleep. I am too exhausted to do anything else. But my sleep is not peaceful; it is full of nightmares of _her. _Nightmares of me lost in confusion, looking back and forth between the lie and the truth, suddenly unable to tell the difference between them. Nightmares of my terror, of the feeling that I've lost something very important, or perhaps been betrayed by it.

I am not summoned out of my room for the next few days. I barely move out of my bed. I am grappling with my own brain, trying to shove away the creeping thoughts that I do not want to dwell on. The Avox brings me my meals but I feel sick to my stomach, and I can't imagine eating.

I wonder distantly what sort of pattern they've made in their torture of me. Why do they bring me to suffer at Hanshaw's hands and then leave me in my room for extended periods of time, as if they've forgotten I'm here? Is this part of the torture too? The waiting?

And then the strangest thought comes unbidden into my mind—whatever the reason, it is because of Katniss.

The very thought of it sends a shudder straight to my core.

It is almost twilight and clouds are blotting out the setting sun, filling my room with shadows. The Avox, always the same man, quietly enters my room with my dinner. I watch him as he approaches me, feeling drained and deadened. He sets my tray on my bedside table, and I expect him to turn and hurry away as he has done in the past.

But this time, he doesn't. He stands by my head and looks down at me, silent as the grave.

"What?" I say roughly.

Of course, he can't answer. But he keeps watching me.

I shut my eyes against his stare, which seems somehow accusing. My voice is quieter when I say, "What do you want?"

For a long moment, nothing happens. I finally open my eyes again, to see a strangely conflicted look in his eyes. His fingers clench in and out of fists, his jaw works as if he longs to open his mouth to speak, though knows it would do no good.

My door is flung open and the Avox starts violently. I know it will be a Peacekeeper and I'm instantly seized by tremors, I shake all over because I know where they're taking me, and I can't take it, it will kill me if it happens again.

"Get out of bed," the gravelly voice of a Peacekeeper growls at me.

I sit up slowly, extracting my false leg from the sheets, feeling the blood drain out of my face as I look at the three Peacekeepers waiting to escort me to more torture.

And then I feel something get pressed into my hand.

I look down at it in amazement, closing my fist quickly before I can even see what it is, and then I look up at the Avox, but he has already turned and hastened from the room.

I don't get a chance to look at it. The Peacekeepers surround me and start marching me from my room, all business. I slip whatever the Avox gave to me into my pocket, breathing a silent sigh of relief when none of them notice.

My shaking lessens a little when we turn away from the hallway where Hanshaw's lab is. But that doesn't mean pain isn't coming.

We come into a high-ceilinged room that I instantly recognize from my first days after I was taken from the arena. There is no fire in the fireplace this time, and most of the Capitol scientists are nowhere to be seen, but the room is by no means empty.

The first people I notice are the ones at the head of the room. President Snow sits in a large chair, calmly regarding me as my guard ushers me forward. Mr. Syke and Dr. Hanshaw themselves stand on either side of his chair, with half a dozen armed Peacekeepers stationed near them. Dr. Hanshaw smiles his too-wide smile when he catches my eye, and I feel a spasm of rage and hatred.

One other person sits facing the three men, also closely guarded by Peacekeepers. I can only see the back of the person's head, which is shaved. My guards push me forward until I stand beside the chair next to the other. I do not sit. I stare at Snow, Hanshaw, and Syke, my trembling hands clenched into fists. I want to scream horrible things at them. I want them to feel pain like I have felt for so long.

"For goodness' sake, sit down, Peeta," a voice beside me hisses.

I look over and feel a current of shock go through me. The person sitting beside me is Johanna Mason, head shaved and covered in scars and bruises, but with the same flinty look in her eye, weakened by the torture she's gone through but there all the same.

I haven't thought of Johanna since the day the Capitol abducted us from the Quarter Quell. I recall crashing into her, both of us going down, wondering whether I should kill her, and then both of us being taken up into the hovercraft. Has she been going through the same things I have?

Has she been injected with tracker jacker venom too?

Out of surprise mostly, I sit down.

"I'm glad you're both here," says President Snow. He's still wearing a rose in his jacket. I stare at that rose as he speaks. "Johanna, I was wondering if you would be willing to…enlighten us on a few of the questions we've asked you."

I look over at Johanna. She twitches every once in a while, a strange little jerk like she's being shocked. Her fingers dig into the velvet of the arms on her chair, and her shoulders are hunched. Her eyes pinwheel between the three men facing her, and it isn't hard to see the loathing she feels for each of them.

"Can't you get it through your thick heads that I'm not going to tell you a damn thing?" she spits.

Snow tips his head slightly to one side, appraising her. "Perhaps you need a bath," he says, and the words bewilder me, because what do they have to do with what's happening now? But Johanna flinches away from him when he says it, cowering in terror, and I know it has meaning for her.

"I have brought you both here because I think that, together, you ought to be able to tell me what went on in the Uprising before you went into the Games," says Snow, eyes flashing at us.

"You just want to know about Katniss Everdeen," says Johanna, and despite the obvious fear in her, she still manages to sound scathing. "You want to know if she's really good enough to lead the rebels to victory."

A weird feeling goes through me when I hear her name. It's a little burning flash, it barely lasts a moment, but it is tinted with fury and hate.

Syke curls his lip at her as if facing a rotted, dead animal on his doorstep. "Show more respect for your president," he snarls.

Johanna springs shakily to her feet, pointing savagely at Snow, and she shouts, "He doesn't deserve respect! He deserves to be cut open and gutted! _He's _the one that should be dunked in water and electrocuted—" She suddenly doubles up for a moment, wracked with shudders, her eyes wide as she stares at the ground. After a few gasping breaths, she straightens again. "I will kill you," she whispers at Snow. "You killed everything and everyone I love. _I will kill you." _

"I see she is of no use to us still," says Snow with a faint sigh of disappointment, unperturbed by Johanna's crazed words. "Take her somewhere where she can wait for Hanshaw."

Her Peacekeepers each get a grip on her and begin to drag her out of the room. She fights back, thrashing wildly, screaming, "I'll kill you, Snow!" and I can still hear her screams echo down the hall as they take her away.

I hate Hanshaw all the more, because he has done that to Johanna. He has reduced a strong, bold woman to that broken shell she is now. Is that what I am too? Just a shell of who I used to be? I can't even remember who that is now. I can't remember the old Peeta Mellark. There is just me now, drowning in lies and unrealities and unable to tell what they really are.

I look wordlessly back at Snow. They are all watching me, gauging my reaction, I realize. And I understand why this meeting was really arranged.

"You wanted me to see that," I say. "You wanted me to see what you've done to her."

"She is cracking, Peeta," Snow says. "The more you cooperate, the quicker this can be done. I need another call for cease-fire from you."

"No!" I nearly shout the word. The Peacekeepers around me automatically move closer, but Snow stops them with a raised hand, still watching me. "I won't do that again," I say wildly. "No more cease-fires."

Snow raises his eyebrows in feigned surprise. "Why, Peeta, surely you aren't suggesting that you _want _this atrocious war to happen?"

I look at him, so confused.

"So many people will die needlessly," he sighs. "You know, this could have all been avoided if not for Katniss. You would be home in District 12 if she had not sacrificed everything and everyone to get what she wants."

I can feel myself shaking my head mechanically. "You're wrong." But my voice isn't certain, and neither am I.

Snow smiles at me coldly. "Am I, Peeta? I'm glad you got to see your friend again today. Perhaps it can be arranged that you will see each other more often." He nods at my Peacekeepers and they take me from the room. I look back over my shoulder to see that Mr. Syke has leaned down and is speaking quietly to Snow, but Hanshaw watches me go with a smile on his face, a smile that says, _Whatever you do, I will always win. _

* * *

The next morning, they take me to see Johanna.

I don't know what Snow thinks he's gaining when he lets me see her. It isn't as if we're good friends; even if we were, he would have some ulterior motive. He isn't doing this as a kindness to both of us.

And yet it still comes as a comfort when I walk into the small, square room where she is sitting in a chair, scowling at the wall, because we are both in the same situation. We were both captured and are being tortured, both being used for information.

I sit cautiously down across from her. After a while, she speaks.

"They want you to get information out of me." Her voice is laced with resentment. "Is that why you're here?"

"I'm against the Capitol, Johanna," I say quietly. "Like you."

"But are you here to convince me to give up? Like you?" She looks up at me with sparking eyes that are foggy with pain and exhaustion. But I can see that she's still fighting.

"I haven't given up," I say in a dead voice that mostly contradicts my words.

Johanna barks out a humorless laugh. "Right. I can see it in your eyes, Peeta. You're done for. You're going to spill everything you know sooner or later. You're going to let them take you. Weren't _you _the one that said you didn't want to be a piece in their games?"

I stare at her for a long moment and then I look away. "I'm lost," I whisper. "I can't find my way back out again. They took me someplace dark and I'm so lost."

"Then get out, Peeta." I glance up at her again and she's staring at me with an intense expression. "Find your way back out. There are people out there that still need you."

"Like who?" My mind flashes to those memories yet not-memories, of Katniss admitting to killing my family, the cold carelessness in her eyes when she says it, and I fist my hands in rage.

"Like Katniss, Peeta," Johanna says impatiently and I tense up at her name. She looks at me closely. "What's the matter with you? You look like you want to strangle something."

"Johanna," I say softly, staring hard at a place on the ground. "Is it Katniss's fault that we're here?"

She pauses. "In a sense, yes," she says. And she doesn't elaborate from there.

I wish I hadn't asked. It has only made me more confused.

And more angry.

"They broke you," she says to me.

I close my eyes and don't answer.

There is a wry smile in her voice when she says, "Don't feel too bad. They're going to break me soon, too."

I dare to look at her again and there is bitterness and anger written all over her, but also sadness and despair, and I can see that though she fights she still knows she's losing. You can't win against the Capitol.

I suddenly remember the object that the Avox slipped me yesterday, still in the pocket of my crumpled pants. I take it out because the Peacekeepers are stationed against the wall, and they won't be able to see if I turn my body away. I find that it's a small piece of folded up paper.

I unfold it with shaking hands, aware of Johanna watching me curiously. There are two words printed in bold writing on the scrap.

_Fight back._

I suck in my breath and stare at the note until Johanna snatches it out of my hand. She reads it and then a smile tugs up the corner of her mouth. "Looks like someone else has the same idea," she says approvingly. She looks up at me and our eyes meet for a second and there is hope in her gaze, and it sends me a little spot of warmth, that maybe we aren't alone here after all.

"What have you got there, Johanna?"

Our heads whip around at the horribly familiar voice. Hanshaw is standing behind my chair, smiling at her. His hands are clasped behind his back, which sharply reminds me of the day I tried to shoot him and he hid the syringe from me.

I don't know when he came in, or why we didn't hear him, but he's here and the way he's looking at us both, I know he knows that something is up. And somehow, he knows what that piece of paper is, though Johanna crumpled it in her fist and hid it from view the moment we heard his voice.

But Hanshaw has ways of knowing things. Somehow, I am sure that he knows who exactly gave me that note. He knows it's the Avox that's been serving me since I got here.

And I know that my Avox will be punished terribly for it.


	14. Chapter 14

**Sorry for the slightly late update, I'm drowning in homework! Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

My listlessness has evaporated, and I pace back and forth across my room, trying to ignore the pain in my shoulder, which still aches from Hanshaw's bending machine, and the burns that sting on my back. The worst pain of all comes from the thoughts that swirl mercilessly around my head.

I switch back and forth between agonizing over Katniss Everdeen and the Avox that slipped me the note. When he looked at me so intently before, I could have sworn it looked as if he knew me. And now that I think about it, there is something familiar about him. I feel like I've seen him before, but perhaps that is just my confused mind playing tricks on me. Where could I have seen him?

I feel like I should know, like it's on the verge of my realization, but I can't reach it.

I don't know what became of the note the Avox gave me. Perhaps Hanshaw got it away from Johanna, or perhaps she managed to destroy it. It doesn't matter, either way. Hanshaw saw it. I feel frustrated with both the Avox for giving it to me, and myself for being so careless with it. Why couldn't he have given me the message when he was certain we would be alone?

_Fight back. _He has seen, just like Johanna, that I've given up. I wonder bitterly how he can tell me that when he has clearly stopped fighting, himself. Why should he care if I give up hope? What am I to him but another Capitol prisoner?

I can't settle down enough to go to sleep, and night falls. My Avox does not come. I wait and wait, walking round my room more times than I can count, but I'm not a fool. I know that he will never come here again. I wonder bleakly what they did to him; I hope they executed him in a merciful way, though that seems out of character for the people who invented a sport that kills twenty-three children yearly.

I refuse to let myself sleep, maybe as self-punishment for letting Hanshaw see the note, and after one of the longest nights of my life, dawn breaks. I stand in the middle of my room and numbly watch sunlight trickle through the heavy curtains that cover my barred window. I can feel my body quivering with tension and exhaustion, but I can't bring myself to care.

Because I have given up, haven't I? It's over for me.

I want to believe this. It would be so much easier if I did. But those two words keep ringing in my head.

_Fight back._

My door opens and the usual Peacekeepers stand just outside, peering in at me with stony expressions.

I look at them wordlessly. I want to tell them that I won't go to Hanshaw, but I don't have a choice. I tried rebelling once, and it got me nowhere.

"President Snow wishes to see you," one of the Peacekeepers says stiffly.

I continue to stare at him until he makes an annoyed sound and leads his fellows into my room. They surround me and usher me out into the hallway. I walk obediently in their midst, hating myself, hating everyone.

We descend several staircases and enter a room I've never seen before. It is large, with a high ceiling and heavy curtains pulled over the windows, casting the room in a dim light. It's cold, and goose bumps immediately rise on my arms. There are Peacekeepers lined against the walls, more than I'm used to. My own escort leads me up to where President Snow sits in a high-backed chair, calmly inspecting his linked fingers.

"Hello, Peeta," he says. I don't say anything in reply and he raises his eyebrows, a slight smile on his lips. "I said hello."

"Go on," one of my Peacekeepers whispers in my ear, his hot breath pouring over me. "Be polite and greet your president." He shoves me so that I stumble, but I manage to keep my footing. The other Peacekeepers sneer at me, some of them obviously amused.

I give Snow a slight nod, and he must know that that's the best I can do, because he smiles again and turns his gaze to someone behind me. "And our other guests of honor have arrived, I see," he says.

I look back over my shoulder and see through the ranks of my Peacekeepers two people being pushed roughly forward to join me. The first is not a surprise; I knew Johanna would be here the second they said Snow wanted to see me. The other person confuses me.

I know her, I think, but my exhausted, jumbled mind can't quite reach a name. She's beautiful, but her eyes are wild and terrified and she moves in a way that reminds me of a cornered animal. She shrinks away from the hands of the Peacekeepers, who leer at her unpleasantly.

"Get your hands off her," Johanna snaps venomously, fixing the Peacekeepers with a look of hatred.

"Johanna," the girl gasps, face white, voice shaking with fear.

"It's all right, Annie," says Johanna in a low voice. "I won't let them hurt you." She gives the Peacekeepers around the girl another harsh glare, as if daring them to try it.

_Annie. _I remember that name. I struggle through my heavy thoughts, searching for how I know, and it suddenly comes to me. This is the girl that Finnick loves. The realization sends a shock through me, making my muddled brain a little more alert. I did not know that she was taken to the Capitol as well. She does not look beaten and abused like Johanna and I do. I can't imagine she would have any information regarding the rebellion. So why is she here?

"I think we can begin with the presentation now," Snow says.

Warning bells instantly chime in my head at the word "presentation."

"Now," the President says, continuing to observe his hands like they are the most interesting things in the world. "It is time to demonstrate to you what happens when you try to fight against the Capitol…and when you withhold information." His eyes flicker to Johanna and then fix on a point at the head of the room.

A side door opens and more Peacekeepers march through, and my heart lurches as I recognize my Avox with them. His eyes are on the ground and his head is low, and I have the sudden urge to scream his own words back at him. Why isn't he fighting?

Another Avox is pushed after him. Her eyes are wide and her lips are pressed tightly together. I recognize her as well, though she is a ghostly memory, a memory somewhat distorted. I remember her from before the first Games. Katniss knew her…

An electric jolt runs through me as I think of her, and I violently push her out of my mind. I can't think about her now.

My eyes slide away from the redheaded female Avox, back to mine. My heart twists in my chest because I know I know him from somewhere, and I just want to know where, but I can't summon up the memory—

My thoughts break off as another figure follows the Avoxes in. My throat tightens with rage as Hanshaw sends me an eerie smile from across the room.

"Johanna, you are still reluctant to share what you know with us," Snow says. "I'm afraid that we are losing patience. We know for a fact that you have valuable information about the rebellion." He tips his head slightly to one side, surveying her. "Observe what happens when you do not cooperate."

"Why do you have to drag Annie into this?" Johanna says coldly. "She doesn't have to see this."

"I thought it might be…healthy for her to be reminded of exactly where she is," Snow says, smiling at Annie, who flinches away from him.

Then his eyes turn to me, and he smiles emptily. "And Peeta, this is to remind you that you belong to the Capitol, and that will never change."

Ice spreads through me and I stare back at him for a moment before slowly turning my gaze to where the Avoxes stand. I notice that their hands are bound, though I can't imagine them trying to escape. The Peacekeepers stop them and face them toward us. The red haired Avox keeps her eyes down, but my Avox looks up at me, our eyes meet, and I remember him. I remember him from District 12. He was a Peacekeeper there...his name is Darius.

My heart pounds with this realization, but I don't have time to dwell on it.

"These two Avoxes have shown disloyalty to the Capitol," says Snow. "They have helped the enemy, and they must be punished."

Hanshaw approaches the two of them. The eyes of the Avoxes follow the syringe he holds in his hand. The girl starts to look even more afraid, but Darius just catches my eye again, and I can see a challenge in his gaze. _Will you fight? _he seems to ask.

Hanshaw presses the syringe into the arm of the female Avox, and her eyes bulge as he injects its contents into her system. For a moment nothing happens, and then she lets out a long, garbled, high scream and collapses, shuddering, to the ground. She writhes for a moment before going still, her eyes glassy and staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Annie wails along with her, horrified by what she sees.

I look at Darius, my Avox, as Hanshaw readies the syringe for a second time, and I give him a small nod. This is the last thing I can do for him. I can promise that I will keep fighting.

He holds my gaze until the very end, until his legs give out beneath him. He makes no sound though I know he must be in agony. At last he stills beside the girl, and silence envelops the room as we stare at their bodies.

"Consider that," says Snow softly, his voice ringing in the large room, "your last warning."


	15. Chapter 15

When I get back to my room, I sit down slowly in the chair by the only window. I stare blankly through the bars on the window and force all thought from my mind. My body quivers with shock from what I just saw, and there is a tight feeling in my chest that steadily grows, but I don't let myself think about what happened.

If I do, I'm afraid I will break.

Yesterday, I might have let myself fall to pieces at a time like this. I might have given in to the despair that presses at the edge of my mind. But that note sticks in my mind. Darius sacrificed himself to give me that little message. A part of me wonders if he did not care whether or not he was executed, if death began to seem easier to him than life.

He wants me to fight. So I'll try. It feels like everything is starting to suffocate me, but I will try.

For him.

And…for her.

Katniss.

My stomach twists and I clench my fists hard, my fingernails cutting into my palms. I lean my forehead on my knees and grit my teeth as a wave of rage and hate sweeps over me, like I've never felt before. It passes quickly and leaves me panting, my mind a jumbled, confused mess.

It feels wrong to hate her. Unnatural. But there is no mistaking that emotion as it grips me with cruel claws.

Do I really hate Katniss Everdeen?

* * *

The Peacekeepers come for me in the morning. I'm not surprised. It's been a while since I had a session with Hanshaw. I numbly let them lead me from the room, not registering anything around me, feeling my body shake as I walk into the now-familiar lab.

It looks different today. In front of my chair, there is a screen. Seeing it fills me with dread, though I'm not sure why. I sit down in the chair without Hanshaw asking me. He stands to the side as usual. His smile looks predatory. I look away from him.

"So, Peeta," he says as my Peacekeepers draw off to the side. "Are you ready to begin?"

I nod mechanically, up and down, because I know he'll punish me if I don't.

"Excellent." He flashes his too-white teeth. "Today we're doing something a little different."

I look up at him and for a moment I dare to hope that there will be no venom today.

My hopes plummet as he picks up the syringe and comes toward me. He casually slips the needle into my arm. I open my mouth, though I'm not sure what I planned to say—perhaps I wanted to protest, or ask him what's going to happen next. But no words come out and the effects of the venom start taking hold.

My vision blurs and my head spins. Sparkling dust motes float through the air around me, distorting before my eyes. It feels like miniature claws are scrabbling up and down my leg, causing me to shudder. My hands pull against their restraints; I just want to get up and leave, I don't want to be here, why do I have to be here—

The screen in front of me turns on. Hanshaw must not have given me a dose as strong as usual, because I can concentrate on the images I see.

I'm not prepared to see _her _face.

It's Katniss, and I recognize her with a rush of burning anger in my stomach. She is standing in a room similar to this one, her limbs bound together so she can't get anywhere. She stares straight ahead with cold, dead eyes as Capitol scientists surround her, giving her a wide berth and murmuring softly to each other. They scribble on clipboards, like they're taking notes.

Someone steps forward—a proud looking Capitol man whose eyes sweep his colleagues smugly. "I give you our greatest creation yet—we call her Katniss Everdeen," he announces, and excited whispers meet his words. Katniss doesn't even blink her eyes. "She will be stationed in District 12. She will be our spy, our informant, and, if need be, our attack dog." He looks at her with something like affection. "She functions just like a regular human being, minus many of the softer, weaker emotions."

The Capitol people write furiously on their clipboards. I stare blankly at the screen, my sluggish mind struggling to make sense of what I'm seeing.

"She is our hand-crafted assassin," the man continues, putting out his hand like he's going to touch Katniss's shoulder, but leaving his fingers to hover just above it. His eyes glint behind his gaudy purple glasses and he says, "She was designed to take down anything standing in her way."

Then it's like he slips out of that time and place and he looks straight at the screen, out of it, right at me, and he smiles. The smile is eerily similar to Hanshaw's. "That includes you, Peeta," he says. I jump violently at the sound of my name. He has already turned away again, spreading his arms dramatically.

"Katniss Everdeen," he says. "Our most evolved muttation."

Maybe it's the venom that knocks me out or maybe it's my own shock, my own rage, my own hate. Either way, my eyes close and those are the last words I hear.

* * *

I wake up in my room, trembling. It feels like every part of me is on fire—my shoulder, which has shown improvement of late, aches. My burned skin feels raw and sensitive. My head pounds and even my false leg is giving me trouble. But none of that is anything in comparison to the chaos inside of my head.

Those images are playing over and over again. They haunted my nightmares when I was unconscious. All I can see are her dead eyes, unfeeling, and the Capitol man calling her a muttation.

Is that true? Is Katniss some genetically engineered Capitol monster?

I think of all the things I remember her doing, the bad mixing with the good. Maybe it's not that unbelievable. If she was a mutt, she could do all of those horrible things without batting an eyelash.

Maybe she really is a mutt.

I stand up and walk over to the door. I turn the knob, though I don't know why. I know it will be locked.

It turns under my hand and the door swings open.

I stare out into the hallway for a second. I don't believe it.

Did they forget to lock my door?

I limp cautiously into the hallway, glancing both ways, the shaking in my legs making me clumsy. I pick a direction at random and stagger that way, because I don't know where I'm going. I just know that I need to get out of here.

When I see the Peacekeeper standing at the end of the hall, I tense up and try to remember some of the tips on fighting my father gave me when I was younger. They all seem to have flitted right out of my head. But the Peacekeeper looks up at me with indifference, and then he looks away again.

I stare for a second, and then I edge down another hallway. Could it be that he didn't see me? No, that's not possible, unless he's blind. And the Capitol would never employ a blind Peacekeeper.

I lean against a wall, already out of breath, and with bitter humor I realize what's going on.

I'm no danger to them anymore. I'm no danger to anyone. I can't even find the strength to climb the stairs. They aren't afraid that I'll escape. They know I'm weak, confused, beaten. I'm not going anywhere.

And because of that, they feel like they don't even have to lock my door.

"So they let you out too, huh?"

The voice makes my head whip up. Johanna is standing at the end of the hall, looking at me with her arms crossed and a fierce look in her eyes. Her shoulders are hunched though, and she looks small and tired. She shuffles toward me and every movement seems to cause her pain. But her eyes are still bright and I can see she's still fighting.

Why can't I fight like her?

"Left the door unlocked. They don't have to worry about me going anywhere," I say bitterly.

Johanna looks around and says enviously, "Wow, they didn't even give you a guard? I have one hovering around in the other room. Snow calls it 'giving us freedom,' but they're just letting us walk around the cage more. It's nothing new."

I nod slowly and realize that I'm probably being tailed from a distance. I can just see Snow, acting like he's doing something generous for us, giving us false hope by keeping our doors unlocked and acting like we can do what we like.

"So." She folds her arms tighter and avoids my eye. "How are you? After…you know…"

"Not good," I say shortly, and she nods in agreement.

"I can't believe they just killed them like that. Like it was nothing." She shivers and I suddenly want to comfort her. But I don't know what to say so I keep quiet. Her eyes darken. "And I can't believe Snow made Annie watch."

"Annie is the girl Finnick likes, isn't she?"

Johanna snorts. "It's more than a crush, Peeta. They're head over heels for each other. Finnick is all Annie has that keeps her going. And they took her away from him." She looks at me closely as she adds, "Sort of like how they took you away from Katniss."

I twitch at her name and clench my teeth together. "Katniss," I repeat.

"What is with you? Every time I mention her name, you look like you've got a stomachache or something." She shakes her head. "Don't tell me you're blaming Katniss for all of this. That's my job."

I almost crack a smile. "Hanshaw shows me visions," I say quietly. It's hard to say out loud; it feels so private, so personal, I'm not sure I should be telling her about it. But I can't seem to help myself. "I don't remember which ones are real and which ones are the visions anymore."

"Ah," Johanna says quietly, studying her feet. "So it's like you don't remember her then?"

"I remember her. Just…not in the right way anymore," I mutter.

"What sort of things does Hanshaw show you?"

I just shake my head, because I could never tell her that. I could never tell anyone that.

She takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. "I should probably go before the Capitol whackos start to think we're conspiring together. Then we'll both be dead." She smirks for a second but it fades away quickly. She starts to leave, but then stops and gives me a knowing look. "Don't forget what that note said, Peeta."

I watch her go, my mind chasing itself in circles. I do try to remember what the note said. But how am I supposed to fight back?

I walk farther down the hall. I wander for a long time; I don't know where I am or where I'm going. I know someone will come and take me back to my room eventually, so it doesn't matter.

Then, I hear voices.

I stop outside a door. It looks like one of the soundproof doors, but someone has left it open a crack. Suddenly alert, I press myself against the wall and listen as hard as I can.

"I think we have waited long enough." Chills run up my arms, lifting the hair on them. That's Snow's voice. I would know it anywhere. "It's time to…drop a little present off at District Thirteen."

"We won't have much time to prepare, sir," another voice says. I don't recognize it. "Are you sure you want to drop the—"

"Peeta," calls Snow, making me go rigid. "If you must listen, you might as well come inside instead of lurking in the hallway."

Warily, I walk into the room. My hands shake more violently than ever. I don't know why Snow would let me come inside; maybe he's just going to taunt me and send me back to my room. But he just gives me a little smile before turning his eyes back to the soldier in front of him.

The man gives me a suspicious look before turning back to the president. "Perhaps we should discuss this another time," he mutters.

Snow smiles wider. "No, no. I want Peeta to hear this." He looks at me. His eyes seem to stare straight into me. "You see, we are planning on bombing District Thirteen," he says with such calm that I almost don't understand what he means.

"Bombing them?" I say unsteadily. I have heard rumors about District Thirteen, things floating around the Capitol that have reached my ears—that the rebels have made it their base, that it wasn't decimated like everyone thought all those years ago, though I never knew them to be more than rumors.

"Yes. I have grown tired of their fruitless efforts to overthrow the Capitol." Snow sighs and shakes his head sadly. "I only wish they would see reason."

But I can see that he's anticipating this bombing, that he will enjoy gloating when he watches District 13 burn for a second time.

"Unless, of course, they agree to cease-fire before we send the bombs," adds Snow, and he looks me right in the eye. "What do you say, Peeta? Will you call for it one last time, give them one last chance? You could be saving thousands of innocent lives."

I nod numbly without really realizing what I'm doing. I don't want to go on television again. I don't want to say those words, the words calling for a cease-fire—I feel like I shouldn't say them, though I can't quite remember why. I feel like I'm betraying someone.

But I don't want District 13 to be bombed. So I will do as they ask.

Katniss is there. If they drop the bombs, she will die too.

I don't know how that makes me feel. Maybe I want her to die.

Regardless of what I feel for her, though, the rest of those people don't deserve it. They are fighting against my captors, the people who have tortured me all these weeks.

So I must be on their side. Right?

And then it hits me, hits me hard enough that it momentarily chases away my exhaustion and numbness and confusion.

I know exactly how I'll fight back.


	16. Chapter 16

My nightmares were worse than usual last night.

I woke thrashing in my bed, with the images still vivid in my mind, images of Katniss with red eyes and sharp teeth and bloody hands. A mutt.

And even when the nightmare is over, I can still see her in my head, and she doesn't go away. I lay in bed and shudder, staring blankly at the ceiling, wrestling with my own mind. A part of me argues that it's a lie, and I am a fool for believing any of it. But it is a very small part of me.

They come for me without much warning. The Peacekeepers march into my room as always, but they come forward and drag me out of bed without giving me the chance to use my own feet. They walk me quickly down the hall; there are people rushing back and forth, in a hurry. I am too dazed to try to figure out what's going on. There's no point in asking; the Peacekeepers won't tell me.

I am taken straight to the stadium where I've had all my interviews with Caesar. There are even more people here, shouting back and forth and looking frantic. I stand in the sea of rushing Capitol citizens and let them push me in every direction. My knees shake and there are strange colors blurring the edges of my vision.

Must be an aftereffect of the venom.

"Peeta. There you are." A hand closes around my arm, and Mr. Syke is looking at me with wild eyes, pulling me toward the stage. "We don't have much time. We need to get this broadcast out, and then we have to finish the preparations."

_Preparations, _I repeat in my head. Preparations to bomb District 13, to kill thousands of people because of this rebellion.

I don't want those people to die.

But if Katniss is there, should I let them be bombed?

I am so confused. That seems to be all I feel now.

I am surprised to see Johanna being ushered past me in the opposite direction. She digs in her heels for a second and looks back at me, fixing me with a fierce glare that speaks volumes. The Peacekeepers drag her forcefully away, but I know what she was saying.

Fight back.

Can I still fight?

Capitol people—not my prep team; I know they must be dead—press in around me, putting powder on my face and trying to make me look the way the rest of the Capitol wants me to look. It won't help anything.

They get me settled onstage. The setup is different than before—I am in a raised chair facing the audience, my feet propped on a metal bar, in front of a map of Panem. Nearby is a thick podium. As I watch, Snow strides out from the other side of the stage, and the audience bursts into wild cheers. He holds up his hand in greeting as he takes his place behind the podium.

He looks back at me, smiles. His eyes say, _Do this or you will regret it. _

If I call for a cease-fire, he will win. I will be broken, lost. There will be no fighting back. Snow will have all of me. And if I don't do it, I am as good as dead.

Snow's own little prep team freshens his makeup, fussing over his hair. Another of them straightens the white rose in his lapel. He stands taller and looks at the camera as the man controlling it signals that we're on in ten seconds.

My eyes dart around the crowd, taking in the faceless people I see before me. I am trembling everywhere, my vision switching between what I'm actually seeing and my nightmares, visions that Hanshaw has shown me. I can feel sweat on my face; I jiggle my leg up and down because I have to move, I have to do something. I focus on the movement and try to calm my pounding heart.

The red light on the camera flicks on. I stare at it, trying to let it distract me, but I still hear the anthem as it plays briefly. There are screens showing what the people of Panem see as they watch now, and I quickly look away, because I look weak and crazed and nothing like I used to be. And then the screen I have been instructed to look at lights up. I don't want to read what it tells me to—but I can feel Snow watching me, so I talk.

"Our country cannot hope to survive if this war continues," I say, tense, angry, wishing that I were anywhere else in the world. "It is claiming innocent lives. It is hurting us all. It is destroying the organization of what we have worked so hard to achieve." The words taste bad in my mouth. They're wrong.

My mind wanders as my mouth keeps moving. I talk about the districts and the damage that's been done to them and their citizens; the screen behind me changes in my peripheral vision as I talk. "District Seven had one of its major dams destroyed in a battle. It could take months, years even, to restructure it into a working resource again. There have been floods, fires, and thousands of casualties because of the rebels."

The Capitol people in the audience boo and yell, not at me, but at the rebels they have decided they hate so much. And do they have any real reason for hating them? Or do they hate them because they have been told to?

Abruptly, as I'm in the middle of a sentence, the red light on the camera turns off.

I stop, my mouth still open. For a second there's confused silence.

The screens showing what the camera is filming flickers for a second, and then the image changes.

And on it is Katniss Everdeen.

I stare at the screen, stunned, and my shaking worsens. Her face is ferocious, but not with the murderous expression I have come to associate with her over the past few weeks. No, this is a look of passion, of determination. It sparks memories.

Then I am on the screen again. I start, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. I stumble over my words as I hurry to read the screen again. "The rebels bombed a water purification plant, taking out a crucial part of—"

I'm gone again, and this time it's Finnick on the screen, his eyes serious. The noise in the audience is swelling to confused babbling, and I can hear people shouting backstage, running footsteps. Snow's face is growing red beneath the powder on it. His hands clench the podium so hard it looks like the wood is going to crack. He hisses something into an earpiece.

More images flick back and forth, and I can tell that the Capitol people are losing this battle. I feel fierce satisfaction, even though it's _her _doing these things, because even though I'm not sure I'm on her side, I'm definitely not on the side of the Capitol.

People are panicking. I stay in my chair as a few people even run across the stage to the other side, disappearing behind it again. I am bewildered; I don't know how the rebels managed to do this, interrupt the Capitol broadcasting. They must have been working on this for a long time.

Maybe as long as I've been here.

Instead of coming to get me, they've been working on this.

I shouldn't be surprised. Most importantly, I shouldn't be angry, because I am one person, and this is an entire country, and this rebellion is more important than I am.

I surprise myself with this moment of clarity. That's right. This rebellion is a good thing, isn't it?

_Fight back, Peeta. _The voice is familiar, beloved, though it sends a little spasm through me. It's _her _voice, in my head, and I have never felt stronger in this awful place than I do now as I hear it.

Finally, the camera is back on us. Snow is nearly shouting over the noise from the audience and from backstage, "You see? The rebels are attempting to disrupt the dissemination of information they find incriminating, but there is no need to worry, for justice and truth will reign in the end. The full broadcast will continue as soon as the security has been reinstated."

Then he turns to me, and he's still got a smile on, but it's forced and his face is still redder than it should be. "Peeta," he says, "given tonight's demonstration, do you have any parting words for Katniss Everdeen?"

Her name almost literally hurts me, I am so torn apart by it. Who is she? Is she my friend? Or is she a mutt? I try to wrap my head around what I'm saying, the words on the screen blurring until I can't read them and I am just saying nothing and everything at the same time.

"Katniss…how do you think this will end?" I look at the camera, my heartbeat pounding. "What will be left? No one is safe. Not in the Capitol. Not in the districts. And you…in Thirteen…" I take in a deep breath, almost a gasp, trying to force out the words that are building in my chest, knowing that they will be the end of me, knowing that I am ready to fight.

"Dead by morning!"

Snow says sharply, "End it!"

I look at the screens and a shot of Katniss standing in front of a wreckage of a hospital looks back at me, and I feel brave in this tiny little second, perhaps my last second. I open my mouth, blood pounding in my veins, because I want to say more, I want to tell her exactly what's happening, I want to tell her everything—

It all happens quickly then. The cameraman starts running backstage, knocking the camera over in the process. It lands with a crash. Peacekeepers run onto the stage, some of them going to Snow, the others surrounding me. Hanshaw is with them. He holds up something—it is one of the tools he always fiddles with, long, sharp, twisted at the tip. He digs it into my side, and I can't keep from crying out because it hurts so much, worse than the Bender and worse than the burns. It spreads pain through my side like cold fire.

I fall from the chair, the tool dislodging from my side, and hit the ground; my blood drips onto the floor. I stare at it for a moment and then I close my eyes. I fought back. Now, I can be done.

* * *

_Not long till the end now! I'll probably go through Peeta being rescued, and maybe end it when he wakes up with the rebels or maybe his reunion with Katniss, since we know what happens after that. Thanks for reading and reviewing! _


	17. Chapter 17

Something is wrong.

I know it the moment I open my eyes, because the thing that's wrong here is that I _can _open my eyes. I'm alive. They haven't killed me.

Yet.

This brings me no joy, no relief. In fact, it makes me angry. I did what everyone kept telling me to—Darius, Johanna, even Katniss in my head—I fought back. And now I'm supposed to be done. I did my job, and now I can be in peace.

But I know I'm not dead, because I am lying on an uncomfortable metal table, and I ache everywhere. My side has a deep, searing pain throbbing in it, and I can tell from how weak I feel that I've lost a lot of blood. As usual, I've been strapped down to the table.

I'm not dead, but that doesn't mean I'll go unpunished. I doubt I'll be seeing the comfort of my room again. This small, white, blank lab is where I'll be living from now on, I've no doubt about it. I try to shut off my emotions like I've done in the past, but it's like all that happened on that broadcast changed me.

I'm not numb anymore. I'm not dead inside. It's like a switch has been flicked on inside of me, illuminating all the dark corners of myself that I've lost. And for a second, it feels good.

Then the door opens and Capitol people in white coats come in, and my fleeting moment of well-being skips away. They must be monitoring me to have come so quickly after I woke up.

I don't know whether to feel relieved or wary that Hanshaw isn't with them. I settle on somewhere in between. Hopefully I won't be tortured, but they're here to study me, and that is never a good thing. I squirm against my bindings, which are too tight, and hope that they'll loosen them a bit. But that's a stupid hope.

"All right, Peeta," one of the Capitol scientists says, looking at a chart in his hands. All of them wear cold, stern expressions; I know I've done an unforgivable thing. None of them are going to bother with a show of chivalry anymore. "Time for more venom."

I whip my head around to stare at him. "What?"

He doesn't answer or even look at me. He takes out a syringe, bigger than any Hanshaw has used, full to the brim with the mostly clear liquid. It makes the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand on end to see it.

This isn't right. I'm not supposed to get any more trackerjacker venom treatments; I'm done now. They're supposed to execute me and finish it for me.

"I want to talk to Snow," I say hoarsely.

No one pays me any attention. I want to thrash against the straps holding me down but I don't have the energy.

"Please," I say, and I hate stooping to begging, but I have to understand what's happening. "Just let me talk to him for a few minutes. I want to know what's going on."

"Nothing out of the ordinary," another man says curtly. "You don't have to worry about it."

"So you're just going to continue turning me crazy until I crack? Is that my punishment?"

"This is not your punishment," says a purple-haired woman who stares at me with unnaturally ice-blue eyes. "That comes later."

Her words chill me, but I don't have time to ask anything else before I feel a needle going into my neck.

I am vaguely aware of them cranking a lever, lifting the table until I am nearly vertical, but I am more concerned with the blood that is dripping from the walls, onto my skin, and I want to get away from it so badly it's like a physical pain. Someone turns on a projector, at least I think they do, it could be just part of my imagination. Images start flickering to life.

It is the scene from before, where the man introduces his newest muttation, Katniss Everdeen. More scenes, filled with her killing innocent people, people I know, follow it. In one scene she is standing over Annie, who screams and cries for Finnick, and there is no expression on her face as she takes out a gun and points it at Annie's forehead, fires.

I think I am making sounds, or shouting, but I can't be sure. I can't look away from the screen, which twists and warps and sometimes spouts out orange bubbles. My body shakes, or maybe that's the entire earth shaking, about to break apart. I wish it would. I wish it would swallow me up for good.

I watch Katniss slip a spear cleanly through little Rue, watch her shove Cato off the Cornucopia to be torn apart by mutts and smile as she listens to his screams. In the last scene she sits at a control panel in a Capitol room, face impassive, and presses a button that sends bombs plummeting down on District 13.

I can't take it anymore. I bang my head back against the table, and then again, and again, and I can hear garbled voices shouting, and I do it one last time and mercifully, everything goes black.

* * *

When I wake up, I am in the same room as before, but it is empty now. My head still throbs and spins and I feel sluggish; I know they gave me a lot more venom than I've ever received before. I have restraints on my neck now, so I can't pull another head banging stunt. I lay there quietly and stare at the ceiling. I can hear voices out in the halls, footsteps rushing back and forth. I hear a yell that sounds celebratory, and my heart sinks straight into my stomach.

They've done it. They bombed District 13. Who knows how many people died? Did my warning save them? Did they even hear it? Did they have a place that would protect them? It makes me feel like I'm suffocating when I think of them running in a blind panic as bombs fall from the sky and wipe them off the planet.

Then I see Katniss, her horrible dead eyes stretched wide with terror as she finds herself facing death, and I feel not dread or despair or sorrow. I feel fierce satisfaction. Gladness. I want her to die.

But no. I don't want her to die by the bombs. I don't want her death to be so swift when she has spent her life torturing innocent people.

The only way to ensure she has a painful death is if I am there to oversee it.

If I am there to kill her myself, I can make sure it hurts.

* * *

I must have dozed off, because I wake to the door opening and President Snow is entering, followed by several armed Peacekeepers, even though I can't imagine why they're necessary, seeing as how I could never break free of my restraints to get my hands on him, much as I'd like to.

"You bombed District Thirteen," I rasp before he can speak.

"This is war, Peeta," he answers, his eyes cold. There is no trace of the condescending smile he usually wears. "If you had succeeded in calling for a cease-fire, this would not have happened."

I narrow my eyes at him. "I did everything you asked me. You owe me now." _You owe me death, _I think, but before I can say it, he starts talking.

His lips twist into a small sneer. "I owe you? What could I possibly owe you, Peeta? The element of surprise you gave away yesterday? We would have had them. They would all be dead by now if not for you." He steps closer and I have the overwhelming urge to step back, but I can't. "You are a traitor."

"I was never on your side." I mean for my voice to be a snarl, but it breaks. "I've wanted you dead this entire time."

"Ah, so you're a rebel at heart, then," he says. He leans closer to me, and that awful smell of blood and roses assaults my nose. "What about Katniss Everdeen?" he asks softly. "Are you on her side?"

I shudder at her name and shut my eyes as a million memories, all jumbled and indecipherable, rush into my head. "No," I whisper.

"What was that? I didn't hear you."

"No," I say, louder.

"Why not? Isn't she the rebel leader? I would have thought you would be falling over yourself to please her."

"She's a murderer," I say, and I barely recognize my own voice. "She's a mutt."

A ghost of his old smile appears. He nods once and leans back, taking the sour smell with him. "I think you're ready to leave, Peeta."

Hope, hot and painful as fire, bursts into my chest. "You're going to let me go?" My voice crackles but I don't care.

Snow's eyes lock on mine and for a moment he just looks at me. Then he says, "Of course not. The Capitol never lets our enemies go. But perhaps someone will come to retrieve you."

With that he leaves, and I want to shout after him, make him come back, but I know he won't listen. I'm left in the tiny room with my aching side, my spinning head, and my new painful surge of hope.

* * *

Hanshaw comes. I don't know what time of day it is, if it's night or afternoon or morning, because there aren't any windows in my cell. It doesn't matter anyway, though. I've been waiting for him. I expected him to come.

He looks at me and, like Snow, he isn't smiling anymore. I expect him to gloat or taunt me, but he doesn't say anything. His face is paler than usual, his eyes haunted, and it takes me a while to realize why.

He's been punished. Snow blamed him for my outburst on the broadcast, because he was in charge of me. He was meant to break me, and he failed. I don't know what's been done to him, or what could possibly be bad enough to put that look in his eyes, and I know better than to ask.

He brings something into the room with him. I recognize it at once—it is the fire machine he used on the Avox the first time I came here, that mangled his hand and left him passed out from the pain.

And now Hanshaw is going to use it on me.

For a second, I can't breathe.

He does not smile widely at me, he does not go into intricate detail in explaining the machine. He just looks at me with dark eyes and says flatly, "Your punishment."

He frees my right hand and grabs it in his own, forcing it over the machine. My whole body shakes, anticipating the agony. I close my eyes and turn my face away. I can't watch my hand shrivel up like a piece of old paper.

I feel something cool being rubbed on my hand. It's probably something flammable so my hand will go up faster. It's just the sort of sadistic thing Hanshaw would do.

I hear the fire as it crackles to life, and my whole body tenses, my hand automatically curling into a fist. I wait for the pain.

It doesn't come.

Maybe it's so hot that my body has gone into shock. Maybe I can't even feel pain yet. I dare to look, my eyes screwed up. I am prepared for the worst.

All I see is my hand, half submerged in flame, unblemished and whole.

I stare, unable to believe what I'm seeing. I look up at Hanshaw, who looks at my hand with shadowed eyes. He'll notice in a few seconds. He'll see that my hand isn't burning, that I'm not screaming in pain.

After about thirty more seconds, he reaches down and turns the fire off. I expect him to get out some other device, or fix the machine so I can feel it. But he just wheels it toward the door. He pauses at the threshold and looks back at me, a mixture of disgust and hatred in his eyes.

I expect him to say something, or at least tell me he'll be back in a few minutes once he's repaired his machine, but he doesn't. He leaves in silence, limping heavily on one side.

I stare at the door. He doesn't return.

The impossible dawns on me.

The lotion I felt rubbed on my hand must have protected my skin from the flames, another high-tech Capitol invention. I stare at my hand, unmarked by the fire it was sitting in a few minutes ago. When I touch it, the skin feels hot, but there's no pain.

Was it a mistake? Why would Hanshaw put that salve on me if he was meant to be punishing me?

My brain can't accept it, but there is only one possibility, one thing that makes sense.

Hanshaw spared me. I don't know why, and I'll never quite believe it, because I know he hates me, and it's because of me he was tortured. And yet he did it.

It's strange learning that some of the most evil people have a kernel of decency in them somewhere.


	18. Chapter 18

_Finally time for the escape! WaffleNinja gave me the idea of putting it in Gale's perspective, so part of this chapter and the following will be from Gale's POV. It'll start from Peeta's. Thanks a lot for the idea WaffleNinja!_

* * *

I wait. I wait for something to happen, anything at all, because I know it has to eventually. I can't stay strapped to this table forever. Something has to happen. Whether it's Hanshaw coming back to finish what he didn't do or Peacekeepers to come and drag me to my execution, I just want to get it over with. Waiting is almost as painful as the torture was.

I wish there were windows here at least, to help me figure out what time of day it is. I can't tell whether it's morning or evening, afternoon or midnight. I feel like I'm slowly going crazy, like this blank white room and the restraints pinning me down are all there is to the world, and I've just dreamt up the rest of it.

I slip in and out of sleep, but something always wakes me. Sometimes it's a twinge of pain from my shoulder, sometimes I wake to find myself shivering violently, sometimes it's from a nightmare or an imagined scream. My head pounds and my thoughts are too confused to pick through.

I've just woken up from another small doze, and now I stare at the ceiling, where there aren't even tiles to count. Nothing to keep me sane. I swear I can feel my sanity trickling out of my head like dripping water. I count in my head, because that's all there is to do, and it makes my thoughts feel clearer. I'm almost at ten thousand.

_9,987. 9,988. 9, 989. _

That's when something finally happens.

The door to my cell opens, and more Capitol scientists file into my room, followed by an escort of Peacekeepers. They all look extremely grave, some of them angry. One of them comes up to me and looks at me through his glasses with a shockingly bright green frame; the lenses harshly reflect the white light, so I can't see his eyes.

"It seems that Dr. Hanshaw has failed to complete his job," he says, with the air of talking about someone who no longer exists. I can't say how I feel when I think that they might have executed Hanshaw. I feel no sadness, no regret, not even gratitude. He deserves none of that.

"So we have decided that your punishment must be taken into someone else's hands. You will be escorted to a facility that deals professionally with matters like this. Traitors," he adds, like I want an explanation. He nods at the Peacekeepers and two of them come forward and undo my attachments. The others give me a wide berth, maybe afraid that I'll start attacking them. I don't have the strength to lift a finger.

I slide off the metal table and almost crumple to the floor. The Peacekeepers each take one of my arms, too tightly, and hold me up. My legs are stiffer than I remember them ever being, and it feels like a thousand needles are stabbing me as the blood flows back into them.

The first scientist clasps his hands neatly behind his back and says, "Your punishment will—"

He never gets to finish that sentence, because a hissing sound fills the room, and he breaks off, looking up at the vent in the corner of the ceiling with confusion. I turn my head even though my neck is so stiff I can barely move it.

What looks like mostly clear steam comes streaming out of the vent, billowing out to take up the sudden open space of the cell. For a second we all just stare, not knowing quite what to make of it. A weird smell fills the air—it instantly makes my head hurt.

One of the scientists makes a strangled sound and starts stumbling toward the door. "Knockout gas!" he yells, and everyone instantly jumps into a panic.

The Peacekeepers still have me by the arms; they drag me roughly through the crowd of scientists, desperate to get out of the room. I look back over my shoulder as one of the Peacekeepers fumbles at the doorknob and see a woman at the back of the crowd roll her eyes back into her head and drop to the ground like a stone. At first I'm sure she must be dead, but then I see her chest rising and falling with breaths.

I'm confused a lot lately, but this is a whole new kind of bewilderment. I can't think of a reasonable explanation for the Capitol to gas their scientists, unless Snow is punishing this group for something, too. One by one, people drop. The Peacekeeper flings the door open and we stagger into the hall, slamming the door shut and trapping the gas inside. I feel lightheaded. No scientists make it out after us, and the Peacekeeper who took up the rear collapses in the hall, eyes fluttering.

"What the hell?" the other one shouts, eyes huge with panic.

The words have barely left his mouth when the lights flicker off and we're plunged into total darkness. There are no windows in the hall outside my cell, so no light penetrates the black.

My whole body is trembling and my head pounds and it feels like the ground is swaying under my feet, but this is a golden opportunity and I can't waste it. I bring my knee up in the Peacekeeper's general direction and feel it connect with something soft, most likely his stomach. The man grunts and his grip on my arm loosens. I twist away and lurch sideways so he can't grab me again.

"What's going on?" the Peacekeeper cries, and I hear his footsteps stumbling around, away from me. "Where are the lights?"

I place my hands on the wall and feel myself forward, hoping that there's a door at the end of this hallway. My heart is drumming in my chest. Something's going wrong—at least, wrong for the Capitol. For me, this could be just the distraction I need to get out of here.

It's slow going, between my shakiness and the pitch black. The Peacekeeper still shouts far down the hall behind me. He's probably still looking for me, but he's gone in the opposite direction.

I run into a wall, and a doorknob digs into my stomach. It must be a door. I fling it open and very dim light touches my vision, just enough to let me make out the silhouette of stairs. I take them carefully, shutting the door behind me so the faint light won't guide the Peacekeeper in my direction.

I go as fast as I can, though that means a lot of falling. Sometimes my legs give out and I have to haul myself back to my feet using the handrail. My breathing is rough and labored; I'm in no shape to be climbing this ridiculous amount of stairs. I wish I had light at least. That might lessen my chances of slipping.

There's another door at the top, and I force my way through it. I can hear footsteps running nearby, and voices calling to each other in the distance. Someone screams and the shouts become panicked. Voices come toward me as people run in my direction. I press myself against the wall as the harsh beams of flashlights sting my eyes.

"They bombed it almost to rubble!" someone yells. It's too dark for them to see me unless they shine their lights right at me, and they seem more concerned with pointing them at the ground to watch their feet. There are three of them, all breathing heavily and shouting.

"Where are they with the power?" someone else cries. They run past me without a single glance in my direction, and their voices trail behind them. "We need light here! This is an emergency!"

I unpeel myself from the wall and hobble down the hall in the other direction. My mind spins, and not just from the knockout gas I inhaled. Are the rebels attacking this second? If they're talking about bombing, then it has to be the rebels. Who else? That must mean they're behind the power outage as well, along with the knockout gas. I notice the sharp, cloying smell drifting faintly in the air, and it makes me feel nauseous. The gas must be everywhere, having come through the ventilation system.

I cup my hand over my mouth and nose, trying not to breathe the remnants of the gas in, and as best as I can, I start to run, even though running I won't last long. But I'll crawl if I have to.

Either I'm getting out today, or I'm going to die trying. No matter what happens, I'm not going to be here tomorrow. I can promise myself that much.

**-Gale-**

They get the gas into the ventilation system and cut the power through most of the Capitol with ridiculous ease. Then they give us the signal on our communicators; it's clear for us to go in, and we all run as quietly as we can, clutching our weapons and ready to fire.

Everything is just a blur going past me. A part of me can't even believe that I volunteered for this, but it's a small part. I know I have to do this. It's not for him—I don't owe Peeta Mellark anything. It's for her. If he dies, I'm terrified that she will, too. She can't handle this anymore. And I will do anything to keep her from suffering. She's had enough of that for one lifetime.

So now I'm here, carrying a gun, ready to kill for the boy that is stealing the girl I love. I never thought I'd be doing this, here at the Capitol. Yet here I am, and there's no going back.

I don't like the knockout gas. It won't affect us—we've got masks strapped securely onto our faces for protection. But it probably knocked Peeta out too, and that means it's going to be hard to find him, and even harder to get him out…assuming he's still alive.

Boggs leads the way, charging into the Capitol building like he's invincible. Sometimes, I can't help thinking that he is. I'm right behind him, my gun raised, but there isn't a line of Peacekeepers waiting for us. Everyone must be running around in a panic, too scared of the bombing we launched on a government building to defend their base.

"We're going to split up and look for Mellark," Boggs says, his voice steady and calm. He is used to this kind of thing; it's probably barely exciting for him anymore. As for me, my heart threatens to burst out of my chest and my stomach is clenched with tension. But I refuse to let myself feel afraid. There is nothing to fear from these Capitol jokes.

"Split up?" one of the other rebels asks, voice cracking with fear. "Is that a good idea? There's only seven of us—we'd be more vulnerable…"

"We'd also be less noticeable," Boggs says, and even in the limited light it's easy to see the derision in his eyes as he looks at the man who spoke up. "Don't question orders. Hawthorne, you're with me. The rest of you split up into a group of two and three. If you find Mellark, alert the rest of us through the communicators immediately. We'll meet back here. If you get in a fight, get out as fast as you can. We're outnumbered here, and if we aren't careful, we'll all be corpses in a matter of minutes."

With those reassuring words, Boggs turns and jogs down a hallway, looking like he knows exactly where he's going, and I run after him. I can hear shouting deeper in the building. It sounds like it's growing closer. I tighten my hold on my gun and my finger hovers over the trigger. I'm not afraid to kill whoever gets in my way.

There's a deafening bang, and a hole appears in the wall ahead of us. We've been discovered.

I turn around at once and fire at the figure running toward us. The bullet hits him in the chest and he crashes heavily to the floor and doesn't move again. There are five others following him, though. I start firing at them, too, a burning feeling filling my chest until I'm barely aiming, just taking wild shots.

"Hawthorne!" Boggs shouts, and his voice snaps me out of the frenzy. "You'll just bring more with the noise you're making," he growls, grabbing my arm and wrenching me down another hall.

I want to stay. I want to shoot all of them until there isn't a single one left. All I can think of are the Games, and having to watch Katniss go through them twice. It's their fault that happened. It's their fault that our lives have been horrible and we are nothing, nothing, nothing.

They should pay for all they've done.

But I have to listen to Boggs. He could eject me from the mission if I don't. So I run after him and fire over my shoulder as more bullets dot the ground and walls around us. At least they are horrible shots.

One of them skims past my face, probably damaging my hearing a little in my right ear, and I fling myself instinctively through the nearest door, hit the ground at a roll, and spring to my feet.

Boggs runs in after me and slams the door shut. There are more gunshots from outside. They'll get in somehow. There's no time to rest.

"Who are you? Stay away from me," a frantic voice says, and I turn to see a battered, crumpled looking person sitting on the floor by a door on the other side of the room. He leans against the wall for support and he looks like he can barely keep himself awake; it's probably the gas filtering through the building. His eyes are wild and his body twitches spasmodically.

It takes me a second to realize who it is.

"Officer Boggs," I say flatly. "We found him."


	19. Chapter 19

**-Gale-**

I've seen him on the Capitol broadcasts. Even without the interviews with Caesar Flickerman, I would know by instinct that Peeta is in bad shape. President Snow would never keep him healthy and whole, especially when he knows hurting him would hurt Katniss, too. But the broadcasts didn't show the extent of Peeta's condition, and neither did my imagination.

This person is a stranger. I never knew Peeta well to begin with, but I like to think that I'm a good judge of character, and it was easy to judge who Peeta was. He was the selfless type, kind and patient, good with words, fascinated with art and infatuated with Katniss. Maybe it was a combination of all these things, making him a saint in some people's eyes, that bugged me about him. Or maybe it was just the last part—the infatuation with Katniss.

That doesn't matter now though, because he is none of those things. Peeta Mellark looks to be more animal than human, pressing himself into the corner, his eyes darting wildly between Boggs and me. He is decorated with bruises and his fingernails, which look like they're trying to dig holes in the hard floor, are bloody and worn down to the nub. He seems smaller than I remember, angrier, and there is no recognition in his gaze as he looks at me.

That's the worst part, I think. Not his physical condition, but his mental one. His eyes look right through us, empty, shadowed, haunted. I can't begin to imagine the things he has seen here, the things he's been put through. And despite the dislike I've always felt for him, despite the fact that I'm risking my life right now for him, I feel pity. Peeta is a broken man now.

"Get him to his feet," says Boggs over the thudding sounds on the other side of the door as the Peacekeepers try to bust in. There's no triumph in his grim expression, no relief. Just because we have found Peeta doesn't mean the mission is complete. We still have to get him out alive. He turns away and says something into his comm.

I grab for Peeta's arm but he recoils away from me. There's nothing of himself in his face right now; if I'm not careful, he'll attack. Not that I couldn't take him down, but it would make things a whole lot harder if I have to carry him out unconscious, slung over my shoulder like a bag of potatoes.

"Peeta," I growl, crouching down to eye level with him. "It's Gale. I'm not the enemy. We're here to get you out."

Still no sign of recognition. He swings a punch at me, but it's weak and poorly aimed and I only have to lean slightly to one side to avoid it.

I realize that my gas mask is probably obscuring my face, so I rip it off, holding my breath so I won't inhale any gas that might have seeped into this room.

Peeta looks at me, and uncertainty replaces the terror in his eyes. "Gale?" he mumbles, sounding like he's having an inner war with his brain, like his thoughts are puling him in two different directions.

"Yeah," I say, letting go the majority of the precious, clean air I've kept trapped in my lungs. "You coming with us or not?"

His gaze shifts past me to Boggs, or maybe at the door the Peacekeepers are throwing themselves at. At first I think he's wandered off into his own little world and I'm going to have to slap him to get him to his senses—which wouldn't be a bad thing—but then, with surprising clarity, he says, "Yeah. I'm coming."

Surprised, I stand up, slipping my gas mask on again, and he accepts my offered hand. I pull him to his feet and he instantly sways, eyes fluttering like they are having a hard time staying open. I unclip my spare gas mask from my belt and toss it to him. He fumbles for it but manages not to drop it. His hands shake too badly to secure it into place, so I have to do it for him. He still looks in a bad way even as the pure oxygen feeds into his brain, but hopefully he'll recover completely in a few minutes.

As much as Peeta will ever be able to recover, at least.

"Did you get a hold of the others?" I ask Boggs. The grave look on his face tells me that in some cases, there was no one to get a hold of. I don't let myself linger on that thought.

"Time to go," he says. "We need to get out. Now." I can hear sirens going off somewhere deeper in the building. I picture hundreds of Peacekeeper soldiers storming the halls, surrounding us, trapping us. I thought I'd come to terms with the fact that I might die here, saving Peeta Mellark, but imagining myself staring into the barrel of a gun with no way to defend myself makes my heart pound.

We go out through the door that Peeta must have come through. As far as we know, there are no Peacekeepers waiting on the other side, although they might be on their way to guard the other door already. I take Peeta's arm and sling it forcefully across my shoulders, because I know there's no way he can keep up on his own.

He makes a noise of protest but I ignore him, half dragging him out into the hall with Boggs in the lead. I can tell by the tension in his shoulders that he wants more than anything to run as fast as he can until we reach the exit, and I feel the same way, but with Peeta like this there's no way we can move faster than a quick walk.

Peeta's labored breath rasps in my ear, and I pull him faster. His feet stumble over the ground but I keep him upright. My shoulder aches from supporting him but I can't let go. This is truly a matter of life and death for all three of us. We may have already lost people on this mission. We may be the only ones left. We have to succeed.

I have to. For Katniss.

Because if she loses both of us, me and Peeta, I don't know what will happen to her.

"Peacekeepers," Peeta mutters in my ear, and I look over my shoulder in time to see them turning into the hallway through another door. I don't know how Peeta could have noticed them before me, being in his semi-conscious state and all, but this isn't the time to question it.

"Boggs," I say tersely, but he's already noticed them. He takes out his gun and fires at the Peacekeepers, who have already broken into a run toward us. He takes down three soldiers with as many bullets. I fire back with the hand that's not keeping Peeta from collapsing, but I have to hold it at an awkward angle and I know I'm not hitting anything.

"Right," says Boggs over his shoulder at me, following some map on his comm. I turn obediently, a gunshot pinging into the wall just over my head. The Peacekeepers make the turn only a few seconds after us; we won't have our lead for long. Boggs stops running so quickly that we zoom right past him. I skid to a stop and look back, but he shouts at me, "Go!" He stands with his feet braced, holding his gun out in front of him.

It goes against everything in me to leave him there, but Peeta leans on me more heavily than ever, and I'll be no use as a shot right now, anyway. So I keep dragging Peeta along, silently cursing his very existence.

I hear more gunshots and I want to stop again but I force myself to keep going. I can't look back. If I see Boggs lying dead on the floor, I'll lose my nerve. I keep my eyes fixed ahead, hoping that I'm still going the right way. Red lights flash over my head—the alarm is still going off, drawing Peacekeepers from all over the building to us.

I hear boots pounding on the floor behind me, close, and I have no choice but to twist around and aim my gun.

I almost pull the trigger as soon as I see a man running toward me. If I had, I never would have forgiven myself. It's Boggs, and he's alone now. He must have taken down all of those men single-handedly. There's blood dripping down from his hairline but he looks mostly unharmed.

"Come on!" he shouts, running ahead of me. I pick up the pace. Peeta's fake leg drags behind us and he's hopping on his real foot as best he can. I guess I should admire his perseverance, even though he's just slowing us down.

More footsteps. Shouting. My heart plummets into my stomach, because how are we going to keep outrunning them? How are we going to make it out of here alive when they just keep coming?

Boggs fires over his shoulder again and again, and I don't look back to see how many he hits. I fire, too, even though I know I'm probably missing every single one of them.

"Give me a gun," Peeta says in my ear.

"No," I answer back shortly, so out of breath and so tense that I don't bother giving him an explanation. I don't trust him with a gun right now. He's mentally unstable, weak, dizzy; he could do anything with that gun. Even turn it on me.

"You're missing all of them," Peeta says, confirming my fear. "Give me your gun."

"You don't even know how to use one," I gasp back, turning a sharp left after Boggs.

"I think I can figure it out."

It infuriates me to hear him say that. This isn't a game. This is real life. He'll probably drop the gun and leave us both totally weaponless. But I'm doing most of the running for both of us, and I'm only wasting bullets this way. So I hand him the gun.

He twists around, and now I'm supporting even more of his weight because he's concentrating on aiming instead of running now. I start to slow down and I'm about to yell at him to turn around again when he fires.

I risk a look over my shoulder, and to my shock, one of the Peacekeepers goes down. It's one of the ones in the front, so half the others stumble over his body, slowing down most of them and even bringing some down to the ground to be trampled by the rest.

I don't congratulate Peeta, because it was just a lucky shot. But I don't take the gun away, either.

"We're almost there!" Boggs calls back to us.

My heart leaps upward. _We're almost there. _Is it possible that we might actually survive this? That I might not only get Peeta out for Katniss, but get out of this myself, too?

Just as my hope starts to expand, lending new strength and energy to my body, I hear a gunshot, louder than the others somehow, and horrible pain explodes in my shoulder. I stumble, my arms slipping from around Peeta, and I crash to the ground.

* * *

_Cliffhanger it up! Well, I guess we all know he lives, but still... Review please! _


	20. Chapter 20

**-Peeta-**

I watch Gale go down as if in slow motion, his arm slipping from around my shoulders, his eyes rolling back in his head as the bullet hits him. Too late, I reach out to grab for him, but my fingers slip off his wrist and he collapses to the floor, hard.

I see the older man up ahead skid to a stop and spin around, his eyes darting from Gale to our pursuers and back again. I know his training must be kicking in; he's ready to leave Gale if it's a hopeless case. But I can tell he doesn't want to.

I turn back to the Peacekeepers, whose shouts of triumph at finally hitting one of their targets continue to echo around the hall. I hold up the gun, even though my arms shake with exhaustion. I put my finger on the trigger, and suddenly I'm not standing in a hallway in a Capitol building shooting at Peacekeepers. I'm back in the Games, and the people running toward me are just an obstacle between me and victory.

I can see red in the corners of my vision and I'm shaking all over now, not just with weariness but with fury. I don't think, I just act.

I fire.

One of them goes down.

I didn't mean to aim for his chest.

But I did.

I killed him.

The gun drops limply to my side. I should have aimed at his legs like before—just to make sure he couldn't follow us, but not enough to kill him. I can hear my own breathing, loud and ragged in my ears.

"Get a hold of yourself," the man with Gale snaps in my ear. I turn to look at him, dazed, as he puts his hands beneath Gale's arms and starts dragging him as quickly as he can down the hall. I go to pick up his feet, but the man glares at me and barks, "We need someone to cover us!"

I'm not sure I can bear to fire this gun again, but if it's a matter between life and death—ours—then I guess I don't have a choice.

I turn and walk backwards, stumbling every few steps, my gun pointed at the Peacekeepers, who aren't running anymore. They advance on us warily, having seen what we are capable of doing. We aren't afraid to kill them. One of us may be wounded—maybe even dead—but that doesn't mean we won't go down without a fight.

"Peeta," one of them says, sending a shock through me. How can he know my name? But of course they do. All of them do. I'm the one they're after. He puts his hands up, like he wants to declare a truce. "We don't have to do it this way. We can just take you back to your room—"

"You mean my prison cell?" I say bitterly, swiveling the gun so that it's aimed at his heart. He stiffens, but he keeps walking slowly toward me. "Stop," I tell him, my finger putting the tiniest bit of pressure on the trigger. He stops, and so do the others.

"No time," the man carrying Gale mutters behind me. "We have to get out of here."

"You go," I say without looking back, my eyes locked on the Peacekeeper's. "Get him out of here."

He makes an annoyed sound. "We're here for you," he growls. "I'm not going to leave you here just to save an expendable life." I don't think he really means that, but it's what he has to say.

I can't resist looking back at him in shock. They're here just for me? Not to blow up Capitol buildings and try to assassinate Snow, but to save my expendable life?

I don't understand. But there's no time to figure it out.

I hear a gunshot and I whip my head around, automatically throwing myself out of the way—I know it's a risky move, that I could be hurling myself right in the path of the bullet, but I just act on instinct. The bullet makes a hole in the wall behind me. I point my gun and fire at the foot of the one whose gun is still raised after shooting. He screams and falls to the ground, clutching the injury.

"Peeta—" the spokesperson of the Peacekeepers says, half pleading and half furious, and then he freezes, pressing a hand to his ear like someone is saying something into his earpiece. Suddenly his expression changes, from surprise to doubt to disbelief. "Yes, sir," he says, and then he motions to the other Peacekeepers.

To my shock, they don't all start firing at me. They lower their guns, slowly and hesitantly, looking confused by the order. I chance a look back at the soldier who stands frozen in the middle of the hall, still gripping Gale under the arms. He looks as astonished as I feel.

Then the group turns and they _leave. _Just like that.

"I don't understand it," the soldier mutters. "Why are they letting us go?"

I just shake my head, because I don't get it, either. "We should go," I say. "Before they come back with reinforcements or something."

His face turns grim and he nods once, curtly. He lets me take up Gale's feet and we hustle him down the halls, turning corners with as much speed as we can, trying not to jostle him. Gale lets out low moans every now and then, his face glistening with sweat and his blood leaving a trail on the ground behind us.

At least he's not dead. Yet.

"The door's just up ahead," the other man shouts. We pick up the pace—I can barely breathe and my legs feel ready to give out, but his words lend me a little energy, and I manage to keep up with him.

And then there it is—the door to the outside world, a place I haven't been for weeks. My heart jumps just at the sight of it. And then we're through it, and fresh air is filling my lungs, and the wind is rustling my hair, and I'm free.

I'm free.

"Don't stop now!" the man yells. "There are hovercraft waiting for us just at the edge of—"

But I'm not listening anymore. I'm not doing much of anything. I'm vaguely aware of my hands dropping Gale's legs, of my vision blurring into darkness at the corners, and of the rough feeling of the street beneath my knees, then my hands. I think I hear someone shouting at me from above, but it's not important. All that matters now is that I'm free, and I'm so tired, and it hurts everywhere, and I just want to sleep.

So I close my eyes and finally I give up.

**-Gale-**

The pain comes before complete consciousness. I can feel it in the nightmares that attack my brain—or maybe they aren't nightmares at all, just hallucinations. I hear shouting and I can feel myself moving, I hear the sound of a hovercraft, gunshots, and then something cold beneath my back. And the center of everything is the searing, agonizing pain in my shoulder.

My eyes fly open and I grip the hard floor with my fingers, drawing in a huge, gasping breath, trying to make the pain go away.

Someone leans over me. A doctor. His face looks normal, so maybe he's a rebel, and not from the Capitol. "Just lie still, Gale," he says soothingly. "You're going to be just fine."

I think I remember now. I was shot. The realization makes me shudder, which sends even more pain through my shoulder, making me groan. I fist my hands against the floor and try to concentrate on the sting of my nails digging into my palms, but I barely feel it beneath the bullet wound.

"We have to get it out as soon as possible," the doctor mutters, "or it could get infected."

Hearing him say that makes me feel sick, and it makes the pain worsen, and I have to bite my tongue to keep from crying out.

"We need to get him back to District Thirteen, fast," the doctor says. "I don't have what I need to heal him on this hovercraft."

I shut my eyes and try to breathe evenly as sweat trickles down my face. Someone holds my hand and murmurs things to me, and I let them, even though I don't know who it is. I hold onto their hand so tightly they'll probably have bruises later, but they don't move away, so I keep squeezing.

Everything is just a blur now. I'm only semi-conscious, the pain clouding every thought and every sense. The hovercraft lands. I am lifted onto a stretcher and rushed outside, where people shout at everyone to get out of the way. I see someone else being taken in on a stretcher too, and then another person—how many were wounded in the mission? Did Boggs make it out okay? Did Peeta?

If we didn't get Peeta, I'll have failed this mission. I'll have failed Katniss.

I gasp and grit my teeth as something bumps against my stretcher. I'm being swept through hallways now, people darting out of our way. I hear voices shouting—something like _They're back. _They take me into a room and slip me onto a table, which hurts so much that I can't keep a little cry from escaping.

This reminds me of when I was whipped raw back in District 12. But this time, there is no Katniss to sit with me, to distract me from the pain. I am alone. The person who held my hand is gone. It's just me and the pain now.

The doctors take off my blood-soaked shirt. One of them shoots something into my arm—something to numb the pain; why didn't they give me that earlier? I wish it would knock me out, but maybe the pain is keeping me awake, or maybe it's not that sort of medication.

"We need to keep you awake for this first part, Gale," one of the doctors tells me. "Can you arch your back for us?"

_No, _I think, _I can't. _But the doctor keeps asking and finally I have no choice. I arch my back and swallow down another cry of agony. I turn my head and see one of the doctors—the one from the hovercraft—with a long pair of tweezers. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Then I hear my name. I turn to look, and I get just the tiniest glance of her before a nurse shuts the door. _Katniss? _I want to call her back, to demand that she be let in, but my voice has totally deserted me. I will have to deal with this without her.

"Got it," the doctor says triumphantly as a horrible ripple of pain goes through my shoulder, seeming to send a shock through my entire body. "Now we just need to stitch him up and give him some morphling. You're doing great, Gale," he assures me, but I don't feel that way.

I let my body relax back onto the table as a cloud of sleep comes drifting into my brain. I give into it at once, because I don't want to think about anything—the pain, the bullet clutched between the prongs of the tweezers, Katniss's grief when she finds out that I failed to bring Peeta back.

Or, somehow worse, her joy if we did bring him back. Because then she'll be gone, out of my reach forever.

* * *

_Next chapter is the last! At least, I think so...it's not actually written yet, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to finish it up in one last chapter. Thank you so much for reading!_


	21. Chapter 21

**-Peeta-**

I don't register much as I'm rushed forward on a stretcher besides the voices of many people around me, tension thrumming through the air, and the fact that my head is pounding and I feel like I'm going to be sick. My head lolls to the side and I stare blurrily at the person who runs alongside my stretcher, yelling things that I can't concentrate on.

I hear a long string of cursing and I manage to pry open my eyes again to see another stretcher being shoved past mine in the semi-thin hallway, and even though I get only a glimpse of her, it wouldn't take a genius to know that it's Johanna. She has to be strapped down to her stretcher, and she's thrashing around, her face contorted with pain, fear, and fury. I don't know if she even understands that she's been rescued yet. I'm glad they got her out, too.

Then I'm turned down a corner and she's wheeled down the hall, and I lose sight of her.

"You're going to be just fine, Peeta," a soothing voices tells me as I'm pushed into a room and masked doctors start to crowd around me, attaching wires and needles here and there. I stare at the ceiling and wonder if I'm in shock. I can't feel anything except for the distant burn of my torture-inflicted injuries, which hardly seem real now. My vision blurs black at the edges, and I try to blink the darkness away, but it keeps growing.

I'm tired, so tired. Someone tells me that it's the gas that was filtered through the Capitol building where I was held—it's slowing down my system and making me sleepy. I fight back my weariness because I don't want to sleep, but my eyes seem to close of their own free will.

It seems like only seconds later that I open my eyes again, and maybe it is, because I'm still in the same room, with the same doctors hovering over me. Maybe I wasn't asleep at all. My mind feels oddly alert now, the sluggish feeling gone, and I cautiously sit up with the encouragement of the doctors.

"There you go, Peeta," one of them says with the kind of warmth never shown at the Capitol. Her eyes crinkle into a smile and she takes my arm to steady me. "Just take it slow. Sit right there on the edge of the bed. Don't try to walk yet, you may be a little woozy."

I look around at them, bewildered by how they're fussing over me, reading off charts and looking at the machinery I'm no longer attached to. I try to ask them what's going on, but I don't think they're listening anyway.

The man that rescued me, the older one who dragged Gale out, pokes his head into the room. His eyes find me and he smiles. It's strange, seeing him smile; after the way I saw him shoot at those Peacekeepers, his eyes dead serious, I didn't think he could have any other way about him. But he looks kind now that he isn't fighting for his life.

"Good, he's waking up," he says. "I'll go get her."

_Her? _I feel even more confused. Her who?

"That's Boggs," the woman doctor tells me with another crinkling smile. "He's the one that got you out of…you know." She looks a little embarrassed, like it's indecent to talk about it.

"There's something unidentified in his blood stream, sir," one of the younger doctors says, sounding nervous. A senior doctor comes to look at the monitors that hold my data on, his brow furrowing in confusion the more he reads. "What the…"

"Look right at my ear, Peeta," the kind woman doctor says, and she shines a light in my eye. "We're just going to check you out to make sure you're healthy."

I don't know why she bothers saying that, since it's obvious I'm not healthy. The last time I saw my reflection, I was skinny, pale, and sickly looking, not to mention wild-eyed and frightened. I probably look even worse after my crazy escape. But her calm way of talking makes me feel better.

And then I see someone else step into the room, and I look over automatically.

At first all I see is Haymitch, unable to keep himself from grinning, and I would have grinned right back no matter how sore and how scared and how confused I am, because I've missed him. But I barely have time to register him, because my eyes move to the person at his side, and the entire world stops.

Because it's _her, _she's standing there in the flesh, the face that I've seen in my memories and visions and nightmares, looking at me with eyes that shine and are full of wonder, like she can't believe what she's seeing. She looks the same and yet she looks nothing like I remember her. Her hair is still dark and braided back, her eyes are still gray, her skin is still tan. But her eyes are not cold, merciless, empty, her hands don't clutch a bow as she points the arrow at my heart, she isn't covered in the blood of the people she's killed.

For a moment it feels like my brain will shut down entirely, because all of the contrasting worlds I've lived in for the past weeks are colliding, melding into something I can't begin to understand.

I look at her and I feel the pain of everything I went through in the Capitol. I see Hanshaw smiling at me with his too-big mouth, I feel the agony of the Bender as it jerks my arm in unnatural directions, the heat of the table as it scalds my back, the fire of the venom as it courses through my veins like poison—

_It's all Katniss Everdeen's fault. _

I push the doctors aside, and one of them has to stumble back against the wall. A small, idle part of my brain wonders why they don't stop me. That part wants them to stop me. It is the part that screams at me to sit down again, to control myself, that I'm seeing everything all wrong, that—

I shut down that part of my mind and I stride toward her, my arms already coming up to receive her, my blood boiling in my veins and my heart pounding in my throat. I see the kind doctor smiling again. Expecting me to be happy? Yes. Happy that I can finally end this. I can finally do what I'm meant to do, and end the anguish that this girl has put me through.

She steps toward me, her face breaking into a smile like the sun coming over the tops of the trees, her arms open wide like she's embracing her fate, her doom, _me, _as I reach toward her. Her lips part, and I know they will form my name, and the very thought fills me with such rage that I have to stop her before she can say it. She has no right to say my name. She has no right to look at me that way, with joy and wonder, when I know she will kill me the first chance she gets.

Unless I kill her first.

I wrap my fingers around her throat and squeeze.

Her eyes bug out, full of shock and horror and disbelief, and her hands automatically reach up to grab my wrists, but she doesn't do anything to tear them away. She is weak. She is cowardly. I can kill her right here, right now.

I am dimly aware of people screaming around me. I see Haymitch standing frozen over Katniss's shoulder, his mouth open in total shock. I squeeze harder and feel strong arms around my chest, dragging me away.

"This is for your own good," Boggs's low voice grunts in my ear, and I try to lunge forward to readjust my grip on Katniss's throat, but something hard strikes me in the head, and everything goes instantly black.

* * *

They tell me that I loved Katniss. They say that I would have gladly given my life for her if given the choice. They say it all like it should be obvious to me, like if they say it enough I'll miraculously remember everything that has been stolen from my mind. And the pity—they look at me with so much of it, like I'm a wounded animal and it's only a matter of time before they have to put me down.

They don't understand. It's not as easy as all that. I can't remember the things they tell me. When I think of Katniss Everdeen, all I feel is hate, fiery and harsh, and the desperate need to see the light leave her gray eyes as she falls at my feet. Dead.

But they won't let me kill her. I try to tell them what she's done—how can they not know?—but they don't listen. They just look at me with pity and tell me that I'll get better soon.

But their eyes say otherwise.

They have me strapped down now, afraid that I'm going to lose it and hurt someone. Maybe I already have. Nothing is clear anymore.

When they sent Delly Cartwright to see me, I felt good. Almost…normal. And then she told me. She told me about the fire. She told me that my family was gone. And it brought back so many memories, bloody visions of Katniss standing over my parents, smiling over another kill.

_Don't trust her, Delly. I did, and she tried to kill me. She killed my friends. My family. Don't even go near her! She's a mutt! _

Those words poured out of my mouth in a wild frenzy, and I don't regret them. At least, mostly I don't. But there's that tiny sliver in my mind, the one that begs me to stop, the one that shivers in dismay when I say things like that. I don't listen to that part, because it doesn't know. It doesn't know what the rest of me does.

And now they look at me like I've done something wrong, like I've hurt their precious Mockingjay's feelings. They say it's the venom making me say these things, that I've been "hijacked." They say it's messed with my brain, my body, everything about me. It's changed me. But the venom has nothing to do with what I know about Katniss. I try to tell them about her.

They never listen.

That irritating part of my brain reminds me that I can remember the venom. I remember being strapped to tables and studied and the hallucinations. But they weren't hallucinations, were they? They were memories dragged back to the surface, things I tried to suppress. Things about Katniss.

That same part of me weighs me down with despair, and even though I can't understand all it tries to say, I know that somewhere, somehow, I went wrong. I did something I wasn't supposed to—something those people that captured me and tortured me told me I would, something I swore I wouldn't. Sometimes I get snatches of something: words whispered in my head that disappear as soon as they come. _I won't harm a hair on Katniss Everdeen's head, Peeta. I'll leave that part to you. _And I try to clutch at those words with desperation, but they always vanish. I try to think past the ache in my head, try to summon up what I know to be true and what I know to be lies.

Is Katniss a mutt? She must be. That's what I remember. And yet something stirs in me when I think of her, something beneath the hate and bloodlust, something I'm not sure I'll ever understand. I can only focus on the things that I know, and I know I have to kill Katniss for the things she's done. Everything would be so much easier if I had all my memories back, if I knew who I am, who Katniss is, who we are together.

But I just can't remember.

* * *

_Well, that's the last chapter! Thank all of you SO much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! You are hands-down the best reading audience ever. I could not have finished it without you. _

_I'm thinking about writing a sequel to Hijacked. Maybe the rest of Mockingjay from Peeta's POV or what happens after the third book, Katniss and Peeta growing close again and all that (but probably with a bit more action rather than pure fluff). I'd love to hear any suggestions! If I ever write a sequel, I'll post a notice on this story in case you want to check it out._

_Again, thank you all so much! Love ya! _


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